


The Snake and the Star: Loki and Aaravos In the Mirror Prison

by alls_fair_in_pride_and_prejudice, theoneandonlymagiscientist



Series: The Snake and the Star [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Aaravos Being a Little Shit (The Dragon Prince), Aaravos is in the Mirror (The Dragon Prince), Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dark Magic, Dimension Travel, Drunken Shenanigans, Excessive use of italics, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Illusions, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Locked In, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Magic-Users, Minor Violence, Nightmares, Odin's A+ Parenting (Marvel), POV Aaravos (The Dragon Prince), POV Alternating, POV Loki (Marvel), POV Third Person Limited, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Probably ooc, Screw You Marvel, Shapeshifting, Sharing a Bed, Stabbing, The Love Is Requited They're Just Idiots, Touch-Starved Aaravos (The Dragon Prince), Trapped, Uneasy Allies, Whump, and loki is inconsistent in canon, and there was only one bed, because what is canon, idiots to lovers, its loki of course there will be stabbing, unreality, we barely know anything about aaravos, we do what we want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alls_fair_in_pride_and_prejudice/pseuds/alls_fair_in_pride_and_prejudice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlymagiscientist/pseuds/theoneandonlymagiscientist
Summary: Loki had planned to hop into the pocket dimension where he keeps his weapons to wait out some danger, but interdimensional travel is tricky and inconsistent. Instead, he lands in a library/prison with a very mysterious prisoner, and now he does not know how to get out.Aaravos was making yet another attempt to escape his prison, when a strange man comes crashing in out of nowhere. He dares to hope that this Loki might be the key to his freedom.These two are not inclined to trust others, and they each have centuries of knowledge and power at their disposal. What happens when you put them together?
Relationships: Aaravos (The Dragon Prince)/Loki (Marvel)
Series: The Snake and the Star [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070630
Comments: 144
Kudos: 70





	1. Loki of Asgard and "My Name Would Mean Nothing To You" the Elf

**Author's Note:**

> I had previously imagined what would happen if Aaravos and Loki ever ended up in a room together, and then theoneandonlymagiscientist put out a request for someone to help them write exactly that!  
> alls_fair_in_pride_and_prejudice writes for Loki (I know he's probably out of character but what even IS his character in the MCU? At least I address his trauma)  
> theoneandonlymagiscientist writes for Aaravos (they may or may not also run a tumblr Aaravos RP blog that is absolutely delightful)

Aaravos isn’t sure what’s happening. He’s trying a new spell to escape his prison. It should turn the mirror glass to mist, letting him step through and walk free. Instead, the glass vanishes entirely, the outside world with it.  
Aaravos is… _uncertain._ This is a rare feeling for him, and one he does not enjoy. He prefers being in control of his surroundings, and not being able to control anything is _discomfiting._  
Taking a deep breath, he returns to his chair and picks up his spellbook. Perhaps he drew the rune incorrectly, or perhaps the spell called for fresh moth wings instead of dried. At the very least, he should be able to learn what has happened to his only connection with the outer world.  
Instead, his prison shakes, so violently he cannot finish the first sentence.

Loki is no stranger to accessing other dimensions, since it is a pocket dimension that enables him to keep so many ~~knives~~ useful tools on hand. However, he could stand to have a little more experience travelling to parallel dimensions himself. Regardless, he has to get the angry Kree off his tail, so preparedness will have to wait. What he had _intended_ to do was jump into his pocket dimension, wait out the danger, then hop back out. Easy.  
But, as luck would have it (Loki swore the universe… or rather the multiverse… had some sort of grudge against him) he does not in fact access his pocket dimension. No, instead he finds himself tumbling through the void to an unknown realm.  
All he can do, he supposes, is hope for the best and brace for the landing.  
Thankfully, he lands on his feet, but the amount of forward momentum still propels him forward almost onto his face. Instead he collides with a wall, a few books falling loose and crashing around him. Quick as the wind, he assumes a defensive stance, knowing it is better to be on one’s guard when in unfamiliar territory. A quick assessment confirms that his magic is still there, but a little… off somehow, and his connection to his pocket dimension is gone completely. No weapons but his magic and his words, he can work with that.

Of all the things to result from a mysterious magical earthquake, Aaravos would not have included ‘a handsome green-and-gold-clad man crashing on his floor’ on the list.  
It is, if anything, even stranger when the man leaps to his feet in a defensive stance.  
Aaravos, still seated, raises an eyebrow, setting his book aside and folding his hands in his lap. Currently, he holds the power-- they are in his home, after all, and the other man is the one on guard. Then again, if he knows more than Aaravos does about this… _situation_ … he could very well have the upper hand.  
Aaravos is not fond of this thought.  
There is only one way to find out what the stranger knows, Aaravos decides.  
He stands in one fluid motion, and bows deeply enough. “Welcome.”

Loki turns in the direction of the voice that speaks. He has seen elves before, the light elves of Alfheim and of course, the dark elves that he fought with his brother, but none like this, if this is even an elf to begin with. The pointed ears and bright eyes suggest as much, but he has never seen one with horns before, and the indigo skin reminds him of a… less pleasant species that he would rather not think about, but this person clearly isn’t a frost giant. He’s surprised though, that the Allspeak would extend to a person from another dimension, as he could clearly hear the familiar word “welcome.”  
For now, at least, the person means no harm, and Loki always prefers to get out of situations with his words, if possible, before resorting to any other messier means. He allows himself to relax, at least physically, a little as he greets the being cordially with as charming a smile as he can muster (which is, after a millennia of practice, very charming indeed). “Terribly sorry to intrude, I cannot say I intended to land here. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Loki, of Asgard.”

Aaravos sees the stranger’s eyes flick to his horns first, then rake down his body with distaste. He notes the color: a vivid green, like an Earthblood elf’s.  
He’s not an Earthblood elf; that he is an elf at all Aaravos isn’t sure, despite his curving horns. They look too metallic, too regular to be real. (Also, they seem to be attached to his golden helmet.)  
He lets one eyebrow quirk up as the stranger speaks (he has a lovely voice, Aaravos notes, as if he's spent years using it to charm). Asgard. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard of the place, though perhaps it was mentioned in one of his books, somewhere.  
“Welcome, Loki of Asgard, to my humble home.” Aaravos gestures around him. “How long do you think you will stay?”  
Aaravos does not offer his name. He never does.

It does not escape Loki’s notice that the being never offers his name. Others might have been distracted and not noticed, but Loki himself has used the trick before. His name is infamous in the nine realms, after all.  
Best not to press it for now, Loki decides. He doesn’t plan to be here long anyway. His mind flits through several scenarios of the position to take. He’s got the obvious disadvantage when it comes to where he is, and if this being is as clever as he has already indicated, then he will not share the necessary information without a price. He displayed no true shock when Loki arrived, which means this is either a common enough occurrence or, the more likely of the two Loki believes, he knows not to show his hand when confronted with unexpected scenarios.  
Loki could attempt sympathy, garner trust by admitting to at least a little lack of knowledge, but when was the last time anyone was genuinely kind to him? He could bluff for more knowledge than he has, but at this disadvantage in unfamiliar terrain, what if he slips? For now, he chooses silence, taking in as much information about this world as he can through his senses.  
The basics: nontoxic air for his biology, at least safe enough to not cause any immediate distress. Intelligent life, access to some form of magic, Asgardian-like gravity. Just from the furniture and presence of books (which indicates book binding) he can gather that this realm parallels his enough that he can navigate it like he would another planet rather than a bizarre set of physics and laws of nature to worry about.

Rarely has Aaravos had his own tactic of silence turned against him, and he can now truly see why others so easily gave up any advantage they might have had to him. His curiosity burns, eating him up from the inside.  
He does not _want_ to offer even a single concession. But perhaps, since Loki gave Aaravos his name, Aaravos can give him something in return. He gestures for Loki to follow him, turning and walking towards his sitting room without checking to see if the other man is following.  
Not his own name. Aaravos knows too well what power one can gain by learning someone’s name. Perhaps… perhaps a question. That would not only show some concession by admitting his curiosity, it would likely give him another answer.  
He decides on a question. “What sort of being are you, Loki of Asgard?”

 _Asgardian_ , is the first instinctual answer that his mind supplies, then he has to correct himself. It has been years since that particular revelation, but a millennia of believing otherwise is a hard thing to break. It is a reasonable question, given the circumstances, but did this person know just how difficult that would be for him to answer?  
A habit by now, Loki hides the pain with a smile. “Just a traveller,” he answers. Why couldn’t he just say “Frost Giant?” Surely no one in this realm would know what those were? Why couldn’t he admit it to the one person that might not immediately spurn him with disgust? “And what of you? I supposed an elf when I first saw you, but you are like none I have seen.”

Aaravos hides his smile. ‘Just a traveler’? He’s sure Loki doesn’t think he’d actually _believe_ that; after all, what mere traveller would fall from nowhere, and Aaravos knows people who can suffer a shock and be in a fighting stance almost before they’ve fallen are _extremely_ rare.  
Besides, _traveler_ is a profession of sorts, _not_ a type of being.  
Though, at Loki’s second comment, the corner of his mouth will not be held back from a smirk. “I am indeed an elf, though I’m not surprised you have not seen one like me before. My kind are quite rare.”  
What sort of elf has Loki seen? Startouch elves are close enough in appearance to other types of elf that anyone who has ever seen an elf should be able to recognize Aaravos as one.  
Elves of Asgard must be as different from the elves Aaravos knows as they are from humans. Perhaps-- Aaravos’s smirk grows by a hair at this thought-- perhaps they do not have horns, or are in possession of pinkos! _Such_ a strange thought.  
Entering his sitting room (such an odd thing to be in a prison meant for one elf, but Aaravos has never been one to complain about too _much_ accommodation), Aaravos crosses to his couch and sinks into the soft blue cushions. He cocks an eyebrow at Loki, indicating the other side of the couch.

Loki allows a moment of debate over his next move before shrugging and joining the elf on the couch, He is, and always has been, an elegant mess of long limbs, but there is still enough space to be comfortable. He rests one arm on the back of the seat. As another gesture of respect, he removes his helmet and sits it on the arm next to him, playing with the horns absentmindedly with his other hand. It is little habits like this that have always helped him keep his ever chaotic mind under control. 

Loki taking his horns off is, if not _entirely_ unexpected, still rather surprising. No less so is the fact that he sets the horned helmet on the arm of the couch and begins _fiddling_ with the horns.  
Does he have some kind of enchantment on his helmet? Aaravos decides he will need to take the helmet to check. Later.  
“An interesting piece of headgear,” Aaravos comments. 

Loki smirks, briefly thinking of the jibes (playful and… less so) around his helmet from years long gone. He glances at the elf’s horns. “It occurs to me that common rules of etiquette may not apply in another world. In mine, removing a helmet is a sign of respect, but… well I cannot very well ask you to remove your horns. I hope you don’t find the removal of mine unsightly.”

Aaravos touches his horns briefly. “No, you appear to be a human. I know what those look like, and I prefer them hornless.”

A _human?_ Is that what he thinks he is? “You think-” Loki sighs, realizing a little late by his standards that Asgardians do, in fact, look a lot like midgardians. He rolls his eyes. “An unfortunate resemblance, but I am not human.”  
Yes he knows that he is supplying information about himself, but by the Norns he will not be compared to those weak mortals.

Aaravos arches an eyebrow. “No?” Then what _is_ Loki? “Are you, perhaps, a dragon? Finally come to tell me my sentence is up?” He realizes too late what words he is saying, but at least manages to inject some sarcasm and punctuate it with another sarcastic eyebrow.

With that one question, Loki begins to realize where he is. Oh, that _is_ clever, and if Odin had been just a little wiser and a little more connected to the multiverse, Loki probably would have found himself in a similar situation many years ago.  
Oh… if this is a prison… then that means that he does not simply have to wait for his seidr to recover enough to find his way back to his dimension… he will have to find some way to jailbreak. After all, it is much easier to enter a prison than it is to leave it.  
“I am sure you know as much that I am not, unfortunately.” Loki does his best to inconspicuously feel out the boundaries of this realm with his magic, knowing he probably should have attempted so sooner. The limits of this dimension seem to be about the dimensions of a small mansion. “Is there anyone else here with you?” he asks.

Aaravos hesitates barely a fraction of an instant, looking at his hands to conceal the tension in his jaw. “No. There is nobody.”

By the Norns… no one? No one at all? Even Asgard was not so cruel. Even _Thanos_ never left Loki in total isolation. “What about the point of connection to your world? There must be some sort of juncture. Anyone who would imprison a person like this would want a way to keep an eye on them anyway.”

Should Aaravos tell him about the mirror?  
“There is…” He reconsiders. “Nothing that I was told of.” No, he had to discover the mirror’s magic for himself.

There have been very few moments in which Loki experienced rage. The most notable: when his mind was tortured and warped by the mind stone, and when his mother died… and he was not there to protect her.  
But what kind of eternal solitary sentence is this? And now for sheer happenstance to condemn Loki to it as well? Is there no justice, here or in any corner of the multiverse?  
Loki huffs, “I refuse to believe that. There has to be some sort of connection to a larger realm.” He stands and begins pacing. “If the people who placed you here severed the connection, then we will have to be free floating through the void between worlds. If that is the case, then sooner or later, we will meet another juncture, but it will be short. We will have to be prepared for that so we can jump as soon as the opportunity presents itself, and I cannot stay in a constant meditative state to observe the edges. Perhaps an alert system of some sort? I might have an enchantment I can modify.”

Void between worlds? Then there _are_ other worlds beyond Xadia!  
But there will be no world-jumping, unless somehow Aaravos or Loki can break the mirror’s connection. Should he tell Loki, or let him retain the small mercy of hope awhile longer?  
Hm. Loki seems intelligent. He’s already come up with a plan for escape based on the small amount of knowledge Aaravos has given him. Should Aaravos tell him more, perhaps he could finally be free of this place.  
He sighs, leaning back. “There… is a connection. A tenuous one, to be sure, but it is there. I am too much of a danger to be left unsupervised.” He rolls his eyes as far back as they will go, until no color at all is visible. “My jailer ensured he would always have a way to _spy_ on me, to be sure I could never threaten his reign again.”

Loki pauses in his musings with the new information, something directly contradicting what was implied just moments before. This, however, he is more certain, was the truth.  
“That was a clever turn of phrase earlier, otherwise I might have caught the falsehood. I always know when someone is lying to me, so I suggest refraining in the future. Like it or not, it appears you and I are in this predicament together, and I plan to get us out.”

“I do not lie,” Aaravos protests, sitting up and folding his arms indignantly. “I _never_ lie.” He pauses. “I simply… did not tell the full truth. But I was never _told_ of the connection; I learned of it on my own.”  
Then the second part of Loki’s statement sinks in. “How, _precisely,_ can you know that?” He is clearly no Moonshadow mage. He never answered Aaravos’s query about what he is; perhaps what he is gives him this ability. But Aaravos has never heard of a being, aside from a caladrius, with the inborn ability to detect lies.

A more direct statement that time… and, even more surprisingly, also not a falsehood. Never lying? _How did he cope?_  
“I do not _know,_ precisely, I never really do, but I always find a way.”  
Loki enjoys the frustrated look on the elf’s face. It suits him, and Loki has always loved making others just a little frustrated. “So, are you going to work with me? Tell me where this connection is?”

Strange. Is the man perhaps a caladrius bird in a human shape?  
Aaravos dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. No, shape-changing is not among a caladrius’s powers, and even if it were, they are simply birds. No bird could mimic the intellect of a human, let alone one as clearly intelligent as Loki.  
He quells his anger at being talked down to. Work with Loki? Hah. He should be so honored.  
Still, Aaravos has always been good at the long game, and he smooths his features into a smile. “Oh, yes. It is in my library.” He raises one languid hand and points through the doorway, back to the room they came from, and smirks at Loki’s annoyance.

The elf directs Loki to an empty frame. It has strange runes along the edges, ones that Loki’s allspeak does not seem to wish to translate. Loki reaches to the inside of the frame, tapping the wall behind it experimentally. It certainly does not feel any different from the rest of the realm at first glance. He narrows his eyes at the elf, is this another trick? He said it was in the library, but he did not say it was this frame specifically, only guided him to it.

Aaravos’s mouth twitches under Loki’s glare. “Yes, this was once a mirror, mere seconds before you arrived. I could on occasion see my world through it, but what glimpses I got were–” he waves his hand dismissively, recalling Avizandum’s unchanging cave– “unimportant.”

Ah… well, such disturbances, like Loki’s crash landing, especially to such a small bubble dimension… _might_ weaken a connection or… or maybe even sever it. Loki does his best to keep his expression neutral, hoping that he will not have to tell his new acquaintance that he is the reason he might never go home again.  
No… the vanishing of the glass is just a weakened connection, right? If Loki puts enough effort into it, surely he can grasp at the last threads, maybe even pull them back to the mainland, in a sense.  
Because if they really are free floating… who knows how long it will be before either of them can leave? By the despair on the elf’s face earlier… Loki guesses it has already been far too long for him.  
He presses both hands on either side of the mirror, clinging to the vestiges of magic there. It is so different from the energies of his world, and yet… in some ways similar. Power locked in patterns, like any other natural force. If he had to put it simply, this felt more circular and spiral, while he is more used to something more… cubic.  
_Norns_ this is taking a lot of energy. Any interdimensional travel takes a toll, but Loki refuses to give in so easily, not when he can _almost feel_ the fringes of what he’s looking for.  
His lungs tighten as if gasping for air, but he is Asgardian, he can last a little longer. But it is not lack of air that is the problem, he is breathing fine.  
_Come on, almost there._ Sweat tickles his brow. He knows that if there were nothing on the other side, he would have hit a wall by now, which means there must be something to grasp! If he can only hold out a little longer.  
“DAMMIT!” Loki bellows, as his seidr crumbles around him, taking his legs with him and falling to the ground.

Aaravos watches as Loki grips the mirror frame, clutching it so tightly both hands turn white– then he collapses.  
Aaravos drops to his own knees next to Loki, albeit far more gracefully. “And was that part of your master plan, Loki of Asgard?”

He should not have done that. Loki takes in a few gasping breaths before speaking, and hating the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. “Well, you might be pleased to know that the connection was not severed entirely with the loss of the glass. But after the energy I expended getting here in the first place, I will need more time to get through to the other side.”

Aaravos frowns slightly as Loki begins speaking, voice trembling. Did he go too far with that jab? He dismisses the thought as Loki’s voice steadies without any indication that it was anything but overexertion.  
Not severed entirely? Well, this is good news and bad news. On the one hand, he at least has a chance of seeing his home again. On the other, he will not be able to reach another world while his prison is still connected to Xadia, and another world might be more welcoming.  
“Take all the time you need,” he says magnanimously, standing. “I’ve waited centuries for my freedom, what are a few days more?”

Loki flinches slightly at the sudden movement that is the elf standing. He hopes it was small enough to go unnoticed, but he has always been a bit more… jumpy whenever he is physically weak. Loki’s eyelids droop, but he keeps them open. He cannot close them yet, not while his mind is still so active. He focuses on the lines in his hands, on the clean evenness of his fingernails, on the pale scars that decorate his arms from battles past.  
Now for the task of standing. Always easier when someone is watching, of course, because he cannot afford to look weak. He jumps to his feet, overcompensating, and pays for it by swaying a little too obviously once upright.

“You are exhausted,” Aaravos notes, keeping his voice free of any emotion. “Do you require sleep, or do you refresh yourself in another manner?” He cannot think of a creature that does not need sleep, but he enjoys sarcasm too much to relinquish it simply because Loki is tired.

“Unfortunately, I need sleep like anyone else… but not yet.” How can he fall asleep here? In a place he does not know in the presence of someone who will not even tell him his name?  
But what is the alternative? Wait until he passes out from exhaustion and leave himself even _more_ vulnerable by not being prepared for it?  
Loki also knows he tends to have night terrors, and if he wakes up screaming the name of a certain mad titan, then that is even more information the elf could use against him later on.  
None of the options are looking good.

Not yet? But Loki is clearly exhausted.  
Ah. He does not trust Aaravos. Aaravos cannot blame him, he is quite untrustworthy. He has nothing to gain from harming Loki while the other man is helping him– now, if he can only convince Loki that is all the danger he presents.

 _He would not harm me when he needs me. I’ve managed to convince him I’m of some use, right? So he will not murder me in my sleep._  
Yes, the murdering part is unlikely, but the mind is far more vulnerable in sleep, and Loki has no understanding of the kind of powers, if any, this person has. At the very least, he was deemed dangerous enough to be completely isolated from his world. That would suggest some serious power.  
And Loki is not willing to let his guard down without a fight. Even so, Loki can feel another sway in his step, another blink that lasts a little longer than normal.

“I will not harm you while you sleep, Loki of Asgard,” Aaravos says seriously. “I promise you this: so long as you and I are working together, you are safe from me.”  
He truly means it. It would not do to alienate his one ally. Nor would Loki be of any use sleep-deprived and on guard every second. No, he must sleep, and that he cannot do if he cannot trust Aaravos– to some extent at least.  
Aaravos remembers he has still not given Loki his name. Perhaps this is part of why he is so on edge. Likely. Still, Aaravos prefers not to give information that has not been requested, particularly not names, and he’s already given away too much today.

Loki leans on a nearby chair for support. “No, I do not need sleep yet… but would you happen to have a quiet, isolated space where I could meditate?”  
The elf does not know anything about Loki, about Frost Giants or Asgardians… for all he knows this could be something he did instead of sleeping. If he has enough energy, he can even cast an illusion to run while he sleeps to make it appear as if he is sitting up.

Aaravos rolls his eyes. “Trust issues, I see. Very well. Most of my prison is filled with books, but you may meditate in my garden if you would like.”

Clearly this elf is more astute than Loki gave him credit for. A wide open space like a garden would not do either. Perhaps in other circumstances Loki would be more patient, more willing to bluff his way through this, but it had been so long since he used up this much energy, this much magic. The last time he can really remember was when he was young, on the cusp of manhood. His mother chided him lovingly and reminded him to take care of himself, to push the edges of his limits without crossing them.  
Unfamiliar world, unfamiliar boundaries.  
With a heavy sigh, Loki finally admits, “Fine, I need to sleep. I’m about to collapse. Do you have a spare bed or couch where I can rest?”

Aaravos freezes with realization. The couch he shared with Loki earlier is much too short and narrow to sleep on. He does not have another. And there is no need for two beds in a prison meant for one elf.  
“N-no.” He curses himself for losing his composure, even for an instant. “I am only one elf. I-I can offer you my bed, if you would like.” Although then, Loki would know where his _bedroom_ is, his most personal space. Where he is at his most vulnerable– and Loki has not promised safety.

So… he’s stuck here indefinitely…with this strange elf... and there is only one bed.  
That’s about on track for his luck. He could almost laugh. “I would protest out of some sort of propriety, but I am not in the position at the moment. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Aaravos turns. “Follow me, unless you cannot walk up two flights of stairs.”

“I think I can manage,” Loki snarks in return. Reluctantly, he adds. “I hope you know I mean you no harm as well, especially since you are being so kind as to share your bed.”  
It is only fair to express as much, right? It does not mean that this first true act of kindness that Loki has experienced in years makes him feel a little funny inside. No. Not at all. He’s just being civil so he can leave as soon as possible with as few complications as possible.

“Did you intend to phrase it that particular way?” Aaravos tosses over his shoulder, starting up the first flight. “I assure you, we will _not_ be sharing. I draw energy from the stars, and need little rest when I have their light.”  
There are no stars, and no starlight, in this realm, but Loki does not need to know that. Aaravos can well go days without sleeping even without the stars; he slept little during his first year or so imprisoned.

Loki chuckles at his unintentional innuendo, and says “Trust me, if I ever _do_ intend it that way, you will know.”  
In the back of his mind, he contemplates what drawing energy from the stars entailed, and how one could access starlight in such a compressed world. After all, one would need millions upon millions of lightyears of space to have even a few stars. This world definitely did not have that. Did “stars” mean something different here?

Aaravos lets his smirk grow, as Loki cannot see it when Aaravos is not facing him. “Perhaps.” He takes the second flight two steps at a time, reaching the top quickly. He carefully wipes expression from his face and turns. “Here.” He taps the first door, and it swings open. 

Loki takes a moment to observe the room, assessing it for weaknesses out of habit. Given what he knows about the prison, it seems unlikely he will have to defend himself against anyone but Aaravos, who has already promised his safety. Still, if Loki could land here, who else could potentially follow him?  
A stained glass window sits on the right side of the room, letting in a small amount of light. The bed at least is not a prison cot, just large enough for two people and draped in midnight blue sheets. He resists the urge to collapse on sight.  
One might think that Loki expected such accommodations, having once been a prince, but in the years since he left Asgard, he came to see any horizontal surface less hard than stone to be a welcome bed. “Thank you, I really do appreciate this.”

“You are welcome,” Aaravos says, annoyed that it comes out sounding almost like a question. He turns to leave his room. “Sleep as long as you need to. I will attempt to fix the mirror.” As he speaks, he discreetly draws the runes on the door that will allow him to hear if Loki tries anything.

Loki sits on the bed, beginning to remove some of the metal armor pieces. “It might be better if we wait to combine our powers. Of course, this is your… home, so do what you like, but I would not recommend trying to rebuild a connection between two worlds on one’s own.” He sets the gauntlets neatly beside each other on a nearby table, trying not to outwardly cringe at the lowering of his defenses.

“You did,” Aaravos points out, lingering by the door frame since Loki is still talking.

“Yes, and look at where that got me. I haven’t drained myself like that in a few hundred years.”

A few hundred years? _Not_ a human. “If you’ll forgive me asking, how old are you?”

Time flies, and Loki is not completely certain how long it has been since he left Asgard last. He had recently reached his first millennium shortly before the… incident. “I haven’t kept track really for a few years… but at least a thousand. Though given I do not know how long your years are in your world, that may be a meaningless number.”

“Our years are one circuit of the earth around the sun.” Aaravos smirks. “Yours?”

Loki laughs lightly. “You misunderstand. I have set foot on worlds that can circle their suns in a matter of hours. Very unpleasant heat unless you’re inside one of the oases they built for off-world visitors.”

Aaravos’s right eyebrow shoots up. “Hours? Truly?”  
He pretends not to enjoy the sound of another’s laughter.  
“My world takes approximately three hundred and sixty days to circle the sun,” he says. “Though…. I am unsure exactly how long I have been here.” Three centuries, he thinks, though after the first few years time began to blur. It could have been more.

Loki smiles. When was the last time anyone showed interest in his tales? “Oh, the stories I could tell you. When we get out of here I shall have to show you some of these places. You said you received power from the stars, but have you ever had the pleasure of seeing one up close? Truly an unparalleled sight.”  
“As far as your years, sounds similar to that of Asgard. So I suppose my age would be the same in your years.” He turns his head to the elf, doubting his question will be answered but asking nonetheless. “And what of your age? You have the look of someone that has seen many centuries.”

Aaravos shrugs. “At least three millennia. I stopped keeping track after about twenty-one hundred.”  
Does it really show? Or is it only that Loki is also older than any human could be, that he can tell? Aaravos is better at estimating ages than humans tend to be.

Loki smirks at the fact he guessed correctly. Perhaps the fatigue is making him less guarded with his speech. Perhaps it is the small kindnesses tempting him to respond in kind with some sort of display of trust. Besides, he is not giving the elf any advantage that many have not had in the past. Asgardians are known throughout the galaxy, so this elf knowing as much would not change too much.  
“That is about middle age for my kind.”  
And maybe there is something… comforting… in meeting someone else like him in that respect outside the Asgardians that shunned him.

Aaravos laughs. “For my kind, I think I am still quite young. Or perhaps I am quite old. I’ve never known another of my kind that died.”  
Perhaps the other Startouch elves left Xadia to die. Aaravos was one of the younger elves then. But he doubts this.  
“You still have not told me what your _kind_ is, Loki of Asgard.”

Loki’s smile falls. He had not even noticed he had one until it fell. “If you’ll forgive me, I really must get some rest. I need to be at full strength to help you after all.” He smiles again, but not a genuine one this time: a signal to drop the topic.

Aaravos’s light heart drops. “Yes. Of course.” He gives a stiff bow, checking the runes, and spins on his heel to leave. “Sleep well.”  
He is _not_ hoping Loki will change his mind.

Loki falls on the pillows as soon as the door shuts behind Aaravos, muscles finally relaxing perhaps against his better judgment. By the Norns he is _so tired._ It does not take him long to fall asleep, something he has not experienced in a long time.  
_Loki stands in front of the empty frame. He pounds on the wall again and again until his knuckles bleed, and still nothing changes.  
“Still fighting are you? The Great Thanos chose well.” Loki’s blood runs cold, but he does not turn to the voice, does not give him the satisfaction of seeing the blood run out of his face. The metal of the mirror frame bends with an unholy shriek, twisting and cracking to grip around Loki’s throat and drag him through the dark halls.  
He’s dangling over an endless abyss. He clings to the twisted metal still wrapped around his throat, his only purchase against an endless drop. He looks up, ready to beg Maw for mercy, but it is not Maw standing above him.  
“Father! Please!” Loki’s voice rasps, he can barely speak. “Please.”  
Odin scowls at him. “No, Loki.”  
And Loki falls. There’s a flash of blue and his veins are on fire, and all the while he is still falling. So angry, so much pain. He’s never known such single minded fury, and he clings to it as if it is a ledge in this chasm.  
He looks to his hand. He’s holding a sceptre with a blue stone, and he’s not sure how he got here. He’s surrounded by bloodied bodies, and a large calloused hand rests on his shoulder. “Yes, you will do well.”  
Please make it stop. Please make it stop. Everything is blue, bright blinding blue. It hurts, everything hurts. _

Aaravos stalks down the stairs, making a sharp left at the bottom of the first flight to go to his ‘comfort library.’  
And his ears twitch.  
His spell is picking something up. He’s not quite sure what the sound is– then it comes again. A whimper of fear.  
He hesitates, then firmly takes another step. If Loki is having nightmares and can’t deal with them, that is his problem, _not Aaravos’s._  
Loki cries out again.  
Aaravos turns, telling himself it’s because Loki needs to get a good night’s sleep to fix the mirror, and nightmares are not a good night’s sleep.  
No. He can handle his own nightmares. He turns back.  
“Please!” Loki’s voice is quiet, barely there but full of fear. “Please.”  
Aaravos raises his hand to the library door, and notices that his fingers are curled in on each other so tightly he can barely feel them.  
“Fine,” he snaps to the door. “Fine. I’ll go help him. Happy?”  
Predictably, the door does not respond.  
Aaravos turns back, mumbling, “Can’t read now anyway.”  
He rolls his eyes and sighs several times on the way up the stairs, until he pushes open his door to see Loki shaking and sobbing, eyes shut tight.  
What can he have in his past to _sleep_ like this? There is someone Aaravos hates now, and Loki is going to tell him who. Aaravos presses one fingernail into his palm to regain control of his emotions, then crosses to the bed and shakes Loki’s shoulder gently.  
“Wake up,” he instructs. When Loki doesn’t at first, he sits down next to him and shakes a little harder.

Loki’s eyes open, unsure of where he is. For a moment all he knows is that someone is sitting over him, and his trembling arms react before his conscious mind can. His magic fizzles, looking for the pocket dimension where he keeps his knives, but instead all that happens is he throws sparks at the intruder. The shock of not having his daggers sends him into a temporary panic. Frost starts to form on his fingers, and he focuses on the sensation of the ice, cold enough to leave mist falling from his hands.  
He realizes it is the elf, not anyone that means him harm, though some part of his brain does not quite understand that. He looks around, trying to align his mind with his real surroundings. The stillness and elegance of the bedroom is surreal, his nerves still alight with anxiety and insisting that he is somewhere more dangerous. 

Sparks come flying at his face, and Aaravos jerks back instinctively before taking control of his reaction. He notices mist around Loki’s hands, obscuring them, and his guard goes up. Has Loki somehow gotten hold of a weapon?  
“Calm yourself,” he says once he knows he can manage to sound bored. “I do not intend you harm.”  
_Someone does, or did,_ his mind reminds him, _and that someone will pay._

Loki’s hands begin to return to a normal temperature. He runs a hand through his hair, the residual coolness soothing him. “Mmmy apologies.” The first word sticks in his mouth a moment, before he can form the phrase properly.

Aaravos’s eyebrows draw together. “Apologies? What do you have to apologize for?”

Loki blinks, consciousness still taking a second longer to process. “I… I must have caused a disturbance. That… that is why… that is why you are here, yes? And… I tried… well, unsuccessfully… but I… I tried to summon my, my dagger… I lashed out… I was not, I did not intend to.”

It _unsettles_ Aaravos to hear Loki stammering– and to realize he’s already gotten so used to the man’s composed manner that anything else is strange.  
“It is not your fault,” he says diplomatically. “Your sleep was… disturbed. You did as any would have done.” He pauses, then adds, “And it was no disturbance to me. I planned to come back up soon anyway.”  
In the grand scheme of events, it was no disturbance, and he _did_ plan to come back up tomorrow. Which was soon, simply not as soon as he wished Loki to believe.

Loki draws in a shaky breath. This response is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Still, he remembers well that green-skinned woman Thanos sent to him between torments. She was kinder than most on that ship… and that was all to weaken him. He cannot trust kindness. He almost forgot.  
Loki sits up properly and claps his hands. “Well, I doubt I can return to sleep at present. We may return to work on the mirror, if you like.”  
_Remind him you can be of use._

Aaravos considers this, then shakes his head. “I am a mage too, remember. I know the effort it takes to cast magic, and I suspect yours takes more of a toll than mine. The last time I was as weakened by a spell as you were, I slept for sixteen hours straight.” He stares Loki down. “You will sleep, or I will cast a spell on you to make you sleep.”

 _Cast a spell? Force him into unconsciousness?_ Loki glares daggers at the elf, his hands growing cold again. If he cannot summon his knives, then he would have to resort to Jotunheim magic. “I’d like to see you try,” he snarls.

Startled by Loki’s– rather extreme, he thinks– reaction, Aaravos pulls back, then lifts his chin. “It would not be hard. A simple Star spell for dreamless sleep. It would not last long, almost certainly not as long as you need.”

Loki’s rage is somewhat mollified by the truth in the elf’s words, and he hates that a dreamless sleep is so tempting. “And I am supposed to trust you? Trust you to use magic on me, on my mind? What kind of fool do you take me for?”

Ah, so that is the problem. Of course Loki does not trust Aaravos yet.  
He sighs. “I… apologize. Of course you are not a fool. I have been alone too long; I’ve forgotten how to speak to another person. No, you have no reason to trust me at the moment, but I hope you will. You need to sleep, and I can help you do so.”

Again, there is truth in his words; Loki can detect no lies. Even the elf’s voice seems… softer somehow, more vulnerable.  
_It could still be a trick,_ he thinks, _to appear sympathetic…_  
But Loki tries not to dwell too much on the dreams and their lingering effects.  
“Has anyone else been here before? Besides you? How long have you been alone?”

Aaravos glances down quickly, face darkening, one hand fisting on the blankets. “Three hundred years. It has been more than three hundred years since I spoke to anyone besides my jailer, and even the last time I spoke to him must have been half a century ago at least.” His heart rate quickens as he says the words. He’s never stated the duration of his imprisonment aloud before, even to himself.

Three centuries since a sympathetic voice. Loki supposes that can make anyone a little blunt, and perhaps a little desperate, which might explain the elf’s insistence that Loki be at peak health.  
He remembers the cells on Asgard, and how quickly he fell into total despair when his one visitor was gone forever, certain that would leave him in isolation. There’s a strange pang of sympathy in his chest for this near stranger, and Loki does not bother to suppress it. He has no other options.  
With a heavy sigh, not meeting the elf’s eyes, Loki nods. “Go ahead then.”

Feeling strangely reluctant, Aaravos stands and slowly begins drawing the rune for dreamless sleep. He pauses as he finishes. “...Are you sure?”

Loki is surprised by the question, and he realizes his heart rate picked up in anticipation of the spell. He wonders if the elf’s senses are keen enough to pick up on such things. “I wasn’t, but the very fact that you asked that makes me so.”  
That small display of concern for Loki’s comfort convinces him that he made the right choice. Anyone looking to manipulate him would go ahead the moment he surrendered. 

He… he was not sure, but Aaravos’s question changed this? Aaravos is… touched might be the right word. He’s touched that his words mean so much to Loki.  
Shaking off his melancholy, he nods. “It will take a minute or so to take effect. _Nec somniare._ ” He uses one finger to nudge the rune towards Loki, and it dissolves into a shower of glitter over him.

Loki still flinches as the sparkling light washes over him. He does not feel sleepy just yet, but more relaxed at least. His mind combats with the physical sensation, still wary, but Loki tries to show some measure of appreciation in a nod and a smile. Perhaps he will finally get a good night’s rest. He’s not sure he can remember what that feels like.  
He lays back on the pillows, the fog of sleep slowly creeping in. It must be working quickly since he was still so exhausted from his poor excuse of a rest.  
The elf moves to leave, but Loki, in a final act of consciousness, grabs his hand lightly, careful not to appear aggressive with the act. “Will you please tell me your name?”

Aaravos’s breath catches when Loki grabs his hand, electricity sparking across his skin at the first physical contact with another being he’s felt in centuries.  
He takes several seconds to register Loki’s question, but when he finally realizes what he’s said the answer falls from his lips unbidden.  
“Aaravos.”

Loki’s eyes can no longer stay open, so he smiles with them closed. “Aaravos,” he murmurs, as if testing the feel of the name on his tongue. “It’s a pretty name.”  
And then he falls into the embrace of sleep, much gentler and more welcoming than before.

Aaravos stands frozen until Loki’s hand has slipped from his grasp and fallen limp onto the bedcovers. Only then does he shake his head sharply and slip out the door, his heart still dancing with the sound of his name on Loki’s lips.


	2. Many Hands Make Light Work, but Only if You Can Keep from Insulting Each Other Every Five Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning the work of restoring the connection to Xadia, and learning more about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the newest chapter! It went by in a flash, and we enjoyed writing it so much!

Loki wakes up feeling more refreshed after sleep than he has in… he does not even know how long. It is almost as surprising as the fact that he is awake at all. Some small part of him thought he might not wake again, despite the elf’s promise that he would not be harmed.  
He became well acquainted with the sensation of having one’s mind tampered with, and aside from the dreamless sleep, he can sense no change in his perception. He supposes he was right to at least trust Aaravos with that much.  
Given how Aaravos had dodged the question, Loki is yet again surprised that now he knows his cellmate’s name. It appears he is full of surprises, and Loki is not sure how to feel about that.  
Loki does not bother with all the intricacies of his armor, choosing instead to remain in his leathers for now. He can still defend himself with magic if need be, but he should at least show his host enough respect to not approach him as if for battle. When he steps through the door into the hall, he notices the slightest shimmer on the other side of the door, a rune that flashes dimly before vanishing again.  
He can deduce its purpose easily enough. He supposes he cannot blame Aaravos for not wishing to be snuck up on.

Hearing Loki through his ~~spying~~ surveillance runes, Aaravos begins preparing breakfast. Oatmeal is one of the few things he feels like eating in whatever equates to a morning here, that he can actually get.  
_“We will dance the whole night through, under a violet moon,”_ he hums under his breath, a snatch of a nearly-forgotten ballad, giving the oats a quick stir.

Even without the heightened senses of his Asgardian heritage, Loki trained himself to pick up on the slightest sounds. Even from the top of two flights of stairs he can hear the faint notes of music… if one can call it that. That must be what it is intended to be, but parts of the singing are more reminiscent of the wails of a dying cat.  
Loki does his best not to snicker. Such a pleasant sounding speaking voice, yet that abhorrent singing voice could belong to none but Aaravos, unless they received a new visitor.

Hearing a quiet sound, Aaravos spins around, wooden spatula at the ready. Oh. It’s only Loki. He switches to using the spatula to indicate the small pot, hanging over nothing and heated by Sun magic. “I prepared breakfast. I hope oatmeal is to your liking.”  
_Though if it is not, there is not much else._

Loki steps through the open door to what appears to be a kitchen where Aaravos is working. He must be jumpy, Loki supposes, having someone else join his isolation because he spins around brandishing his spatula. Loki smirks. Yes, Aaravos makes quite the terrifying picture interrupted mid-off-key mumbling and wielding a spatula.  
Aaravos quickly regains his composure, ever the picture of elegance. “Far be it from me to turn down any sustenance, given the situation.” He has certainly had worse than a warm bowl of oats.

What is that _smirk_ for?  
Aaravos indicates a cupboard. “Bowls are there. Spoons, there. Table…” He glances around, letting a smirk of his own grow. “Figure it out.”

Loki snatches a bowl from the top shelf and a spoon from the drawer. When he receives his serving, he chooses instead to hop on the counter, glancing at Aaravos to check his reaction before digging into the food, hungrier than he thought he would be.  
One might think he was raised better than that, having been brought up a prince, but Asgardians were never ones for table manners.

“There is a _perfectly good_ chair _right there_.” Aaravos jerks his head towards the table by the wall and its lone chair. “Or has no one taught you it’s polite to sit on something meant for sitting rather than something meant for food preparation?”  
This, he doubts. Loki has already displayed such charm, Aaravos is sure he’s doing this simply to bother him.

“I would not dream of taking your only chair,” Loki responds. “You have been so accommodating already.”

“Please. I insist.”  
It bothers Aaravos intensely, for reasons he cannot articulate even to himself, to see Loki hunched over a bowl of oatmeal on _Aaravos’s_ counter, rather than sitting properly in a chair.  
“I have others,” he adds. “More comfortable ones, if you would prefer to eat in the library.”  
If Loki accepts this offer and spills on Aaravos’s books, he’ll wish he’d never fallen into–  
A smile tugs at the corner of Aaravos’s mouth. He likely already does.

“No need,” Loki says, hopping down from the counter and scooping up the last spoonful of his breakfast into his mouth. “Already done. Where do you keep the dish soap?”

Aaravos starts, realizing his oatmeal is still untouched. “Dish soap?” He takes a bite of oatmeal, unsure if it’s to eat or to avoid answering.

“How else do you clean your dishes?” Loki asks, eyeing the empty pot where Aaravos prepared the oatmeal. He is, unfortunately, still a little hungry, and debates asking if he can prepare more himself. No, he can get by. Better than starving at least.

Aaravos looks at the empty pot, raises the hand with the spoon, and uses it to draw a swirling Ocean rune. “ _Purificati._ ”  
Glancing at Loki, he sees the longing look on the other’s face. “Did you want more?”

Instead of answering the question, Loki asks one of his own. “Where does the food come from? Have you been living on pre-prepared rations stored here all this time?”

“Yes,” Aaravos grumbles. “Avizandum would not let me starve to death, because he _is not as cruel as I,_ but fresh food?” His voice takes on a mocking tone. “ ‘Fresh food would be pointless, as it would rot within weeks, and only waste space until then.’ ”

“Surely you would run out eventually. Did you not say it has already been centuries?” Were they on a clock for their escape? Would they run out of food?

Aaravos waves his spoon dismissively. “No, in all the time I’ve been imprisoned my stores have not grown any less. I do not know precisely how he managed, but unless some of it is false food meant to starve me slowly, we have enough.” He realizes that what he’s said may not be reassuring, so he adds, “Avizandum is not _that_ cruel. If he had wished to starve me to death, I would be dead already. He knows he may need me in the future.”

Loki scoffs. “ _‘Not that cruel’_ yet he left you in total isolation. Honestly I cannot imagine, but I would prefer death if given the choice.” He sets his bowl and spoon back where they came from, having been cleaned by Aaravos’s magic. He has lost his appetite.

Aaravos shakes his head. “It was not as bad as you think.” Startouch elves were always more isolated than the other kinds, Aaravos especially so after the other Startouches left Xadia and he remained.  
He changes the subject. “If you’re done eating, drink some water at least. Or did the wolves you were raised among not teach you how to drink properly, as they clearly did not teach you to eat?” He smiles, setting aside his own now-empty bowl and spoon. Jabs are safer than talk of loneliness.

A bark of laughter escapes Loki’s mouth before he can catch it, which must not help Aaravos’s impression that he was raised by wolves. “While my father and brother could certainly be on the… uncivilized and wild side at times, I was not raised by wolves. I’ll have you know I was raised in a palace.”

“A palace?” Another sliver of information about his companion. “So one of your parents managed to get a job working for your ruler. Certainly sounds impressive, when you put it that way. Not as much if you say your father poured the queen’s wine.”

 _Oh, this is fun. Should I tell him?_ Loki wonders. “Well, yes I suppose on occasion my father poured the queen’s wine, but only when he was playing the part of the doting husband.”

This is not _much_ of a surprise, not with the way Loki worded it. He sweeps Loki a bow, setting one foot behind the other and raising an arm above his horns. “I am honored to host you, then, _Prince_ Loki of Asgard.” His tone is too sincere.

 _Of course he had to make it awkward._  
Perhaps once Loki would have appreciated the gesture, but the words “Prince Loki of Asgard” grate on his ears. That was a different man, practically a stranger. He never much cared for the throne anyway, not really. Loki clears his throat, smiling amicably to cover his discomfort. “We’re not in Asgard, Aaravos, so please continue to call me Loki. I am no prince here.” _Or anywhere… not anymore._

“Once a Prince of Asgard, always a Prince of Asgard,” Aaravos teases, a smile ghosting across his face. “Still, I shan’t insist you call me by my title, so I shall omit yours.”

 _And what would you know of Asgard?_ Loki wonders silently. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you hold a title as well. Care to satisfy my curiosity?”

“First,” Aaravos holds up a finger, smile dropping, “I have a question as well.” His gaze hardens, pressing his hands against the counter to lean forward. “Who is the reason for what happened last night?”

Loki gulps. _Me,_ his mind supplies. _It was my fault._ Instead he leans against the cupboard, a picture of nonchalance. “Looking for a name you can use against me? Would you care for a list?”

“If there is one,” Aaravos says, matching Loki’s calm. _How can you speak like that about those who have hurt you? So untroubled, as if you had no nightmares last night._

“Information for information then. Tell me what crime was egregious enough to warrant centuries of solitary confinement, and you can have one of the names.” Loki figures he does not even have to speak the name of the one who terrifies him most, an advantageous trade to learn more about his companion.

Aaravos smiles bitterly. “Crime? I was not imprisoned for any crime. Helping those in need has never been against any law I was aware of.”  
There was no law against Dark magic in Xadia until _after_ Aaravos had begun training Ziard, after all.

Loki narrows his eyes. “A political prisoner then? A threat to another’s regime?” He is well familiar with the concept, having come across a few such individuals in Asgard’s dungeons.

“You could say that. Now, you promised me a name.” Aaravos promises himself, the next name he learns will go directly under the Dragon King’s on his _to-kill_ list.

Loki huffs, suddenly displeased with this trade. There are plenty of names, he reassures himself. “Proxima Midnight.”

“What sort of a name is that?” Aaravos demands, taken aback. “That cannot be an actual _name._ ” Named after a time? One might as well be named _Noon_ or _Dusk!_

Loki laughs, only now realizing the absurdity of one of the names that had so haunted his dreams. It is a freeing feeling, allowing himself a moment of mockery over those ghosts. When he catches his breath, he elaborates. “Honestly, I do not know what any of them were named originally. I suppose he wanted them to take on names of darkness and fear when he took them under his wing. But truly, that is not the most ridiculous of names. I once met a man that called himself Tazerface.”

At first, Aaravos frowns at Loki’s laughter, but as it continues he catches himself smiling along.  
“What is a ‘tazer face’?” Aaravos asks. ‘Tazer’ is a funny word, soft and hard on his tongue at the same time.  
He’ll ask about who _he_ is in a minute. The delay is merely because he dislikes not knowing a word, not because he hopes to hear Loki laugh again.

“A taser is a small weapon, used for self defense to give one enough time to run. It releases small sprays of lightning.” Loki shrugs, “It is supposedly a weak weapon, so you can imagine my surprise to learn it felled my brother once.” He laughs at one of the few bright moments of that time, trying not to let his thoughts wander to the other events. “But to be fair to him, he was without his powers at the time.” 

One eyebrow quirks up. “Interesting. And it requires no rune or word for this spell?” He could use a weapon like this, however weak. “Your brother is quite strong, then, for you to be surprised that he was felled by lightning?” Ah, and here is another chance to learn what Loki is. “I am surprised by this. Humans cannot typically withstand lightning well, even small lightning. I know from experience.”

Loki ignores the questions about his brother. “Oh yes, that is why the humans would use it on each other. No, it requires no runes, no magic either. The midgardians are weak, to be sure, and rarely magically attuned, but they have some quaint little gadgets at times.” 

_Midgardians._ Aaravos notes Loki’s odd word for humans, committing it to memory. “Yes, humans are inventive little things, aren’t they. Fascinating.” He smiles. “I am fond of the species. I owe much to them.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Now you sound like my brother. They are fine to watch from afar, maybe to prank every now and then, but what is it about them that fascinates you?”

Aaravos ponders this for a moment. He hasn’t often verbalized his fascination.  
“Their curiosity,” he decides finally. “Humans are so curious, and so driven. Set a goal in front of one, and they’ll stop at nothing to achieve it.”  
He well remembers Ziard’s dedication to Dark magic, how he asked questions of it Aaravos himself would never have thought of.  
Aaravos shifts, the counter digging uncomfortably into his lower back. “Shall we take this conversation to the library or the sitting room?”

Loki follows Aaravos out of the room, pondering the reasons behind Aaravos’s fondness. “Yes, curious they are indeed, sometimes too much for their own good. You sound very familiar with them, like a mentor.”

Aaravos’s stride falters for an instant. How could he know?  
“Yes, not long before my imprisonment, actually. My first and only human apprentice.” He cannot deny he was fonder of Ziard than of many of his apprentices, though how much of that had to do with the fact he was a human and how much to do with his– somewhat misguided, in the end– nobility, Aaravos is not sure.

“Your magic is very different from that which I am familiar with. I could never take a human apprentice, as my mastery took a few centuries. It would be as fruitful an endeavor as teaching language to a bird. They could pick up a few phrases, but not enough to communicate with their limited life span.”

Aaravos laughs quietly, stroking his hand along the spines on his shelves as they enter the library. “Quite possibly. Z– my apprentice could never achieve my level of ability, of course, but he was more accomplished than I would have thought possible, given his years. He learned magic many elves could never have done.”  
He is unsure whether he’s boasting of Ziard’s talent or his own teaching.

They enter the library, and Loki finds himself drawn to the books on the expansive shelves. He is curious about this world’s magic, the history, the lore, anything. He was always a bookworm as a child, reading about the nine realms. Now, here he stands in a treasure trove of information about a world beyond them all. He glides his fingers along the spines of the books, looking for one to catch his interest.

Aaravos steps up behind Loki as he stands by the bookshelf, reaching over his shoulder to pull a title from the shelf. “If you’re looking to learn about Xadian magic, I’d suggest _Six Sources_ first.”

Loki accepts the tome from Aaravos, flipping through the first few pages. Thankfully, he can read it, though a few terms may not translate. A fast reader, Loki mutters more to himself, “So _that_ is what you meant by getting energy from the stars. Fascinating...”

Aaravos coughs. “Yes. Would you care to postpone your study an hour or two?” His gaze flicks longingly to the still-empty frame.  
Just on the other side of that frame is his freedom, as it has been for three centuries. There’s simply another barrier in the way now.  
_Is the frame empty on Avizandum’s side as well? Is he wondering what has happened, or who Loki is and how he got here? Or has he not even bothered to check?_ There was a time when the Dragon King checked that Aaravos was still imprisoned regularly, every week. After some months, the checks became less frequent as he grew complacent. Last time Aaravos saw the dragon’s face– or eye, rather– was nearly a year ago he thinks, though it was only for a second.

Loki skims through some of the basics of star magic, seeming to be the most useful to the problem at hand, but he promises himself to revisit the moon arcanum another time. He shuts the book, setting it on a nearby table. “Yes, of course.”  
His gaze flicks to Aaravos’s star markings. “You channel your magic through runes, yes? Is there a way to draw that power to the surface without casting a specific spell?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Loki waves his hand as he searches for the proper words. “Clearly, none of your spells will work, or you would have been freed by now. As for me, the… energies of this world are not completely compatible with my own seidr. I need… a translator I suppose you could put it.”

“ _Seidr_ is what you call your magic?” Aaravos clarifies. “Are you telling me you wish to, as it were, speak your language and have me translate for my mirror?”

Loki runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Yes? Truly I am out of my element. Perhaps the language analogy might not be appropriate. We are not translating for the mirror, but rather for, what was your world called? Xadia? We are translating for Xadia itself. I have the ability to reach it, but I cannot grasp it.” Loki, lost in his discussion of magical theory, grabs Aaravos’s hand, briefly startled by the missing fifth finger. He presses Aaravos’s hand on the mirror frame, placing his own hand on top. “But your magic is in tune with Xadia. The boost of our combined powers is important, but even more so, your existing connection and familiarity with your world. Your magic is an extension of that.”

Aaravos doesn’t know what to do when Loki takes his hand. This isn’t right. He should know what to do. He _used_ to know what to do when someone took his hand. What did he do before his imprisonment?  
Flirt. He used to flirt. Usually. But this is no time for flirting, and Aaravos doesn’t know if he can reclaim his hand without breaking Loki’s train of thought– that’s all he’s concerned about, of course. Loki’s ability to free him.  
“Pardon me, would you mind repeating that? I failed to understand.”  
He failed to _hear_ , but _that_ is beside the point. He’s pretty sure Loki said something about magic, though.

Loki is startled from his explanation, realizing he may have gotten a tad carried away with the intricacies of magic theory. He pulls his hand away from Aaravos’s. It is a rare thing for him to feel comfortable enough with someone to touch them, how had he done something like that without thinking? “In short, my magic can get us about 90% of the way. What I need from you is your connection to your world, the way your magic aligns with it.”  
He hopes he has not made Aaravos uncomfortable. They need to work together to get out, and any discomfort may interfere with that… that’s all he is worried about… not how lonely Aaravos must have been for so long, or how startling touch might be.

"My connection to Xadia." Aaravos nods, still distracted from the feeling of Loki's hand on his. "Yes, of course. What do you require of me?"

“Do not cast any spell, just bring your power to the surface, however it is that manifests for you.”  
Loki holds out his hand, this time allowing Aaravos to come to him if he is comfortable. “I can manage without, but it will be easier to connect if there is some form of physical contact.”

Aaravos hesitates briefly before placing his hand in Loki's. Refusal to initiate physical contact is a weakness of sorts. Aaravos will _not_ be seen as weak.  
Doing his best to ignore the sensation of a warm hand in his, he inhales several times. Each time is slower than the last, as he lets himself grow closer to the distant stars. _His stars. His brethren. He is a star._  
He opens his eyes, and the room looks _different,_ almost glowing. He feels stronger, too; he could lift a shadowpython now if he wished, and if there were one available.

When Aaravos opens his eyes, they are shining like stars of so many colors. The marks on his cheeks and chest glow brighter, and Aaravos himself is like a nebula. Loki’s breath catches for a moment. He’s _beautiful._  
_Focus._ Loki reminds himself, and he tries again at the mirror, reaching out to catch the threads of connections to Xadia that still linger. Like last time, he can barely brush against them, but instead of stressing himself, he channels the energy Aaravos provides.  
That energy is electric. Loki had the misfortune of being struck by Thor’s lightning once, and the channeling of that power, the electricity seeking grounding through his body, seems pale in comparison compared to Aaravos. No wonder his enemies were so threatened that they would resort to this kind of prison.  
Like a magnet to metal, Loki feels a pull, Aaravos’s magic being pulled back to its home in the stars of Xadia. Cautiously, Loki lets them collide. _This should reestablish the connection._ “I think it is working!” he says.  
And then comes the blast, knocking them both backwards.

A thrill runs through Aaravos at Loki’s words, though it barely lasts a second before he crashes into his bookshelves, knocking the wind out of him.  
“ _Owww._ ” He lifts his head to look around, then drops it again. He can’t focus with the ringing in his ears and the way the room won’t stop spinning. He can barely see the green shape that he knows is Loki across the room from him.  
Only a rare few times in his life has he been helpless. Last time was when he was first imprisoned. He likes the feeling no more now than then.

Loki is less worse for wear than Aaravos. Once one experiences the Hulk tossing them like a ragdoll, very little can compare. Regaining enough of his balance to stand again, he rushes across the room to where Aaravos lay dazed.  
_How much damage can he sustain? How strong are elves like him? Could he have a concussion? How would one check for that with his different physiology? For all I know his brain could be kept in his stomach._  
He runs his hands along the back of Aaravos’s skull to check for bleeding, and says a silent expression of gratitude that there is none.

Aaravos is _very_ aware of Loki’s hands in his hair, near the bases of his horns and behind his head. He’s not in a position to protest, though, and Loki’s hands are gentle.  
“I will be perfectly fine shortly,” he says once Loki’s hands are gone. One eye opens to see Loki’s worried face, then closes again. “In case you were worried.”

“No broken bones?” Loki asks. “I am terribly sorry. I did not expect such a strong reaction, and I really know nothing about first aid for your species.”

Eyes still closed, Aaravos begins to shake his head, stopping when a stabbing pain threatens. “No. I am well. Elves have stronger bones than humans.” He cannot help but add, “like you,” in another– likely futile– attempt to learn _what_ Loki is. By now, the other man’s reticence is all that keeps the elf’s curiosity.

Loki does not miss the wince of pain when Aaravos starts to shake his head. “There is at least some form of head injury.” He conjures a small light at the tip of his finger. “Open your eyes, please?”  
All the years administering care to his thick headed brother and fellow warriors have taught him a few things. He will be damned before he fails to make some attempt.

Aaravos complies, glaring balefully at Loki. “What is that stars-cursed light for? I do not have a concussion. I am well.”

“Humor me, at least,” Loki grumbles, moving the light back and forth to check Aaravos’s pupils. Satisfied with their behavior (his eyes are clearly not ones he is used to seeing, the sclera is _black_ ) he dissolves the light. “My mother taught me a thing or two about healing magic. I could ease the ache, but it could have been dangerous if you were to have a concussion, so I had to check for myself.”

Aaravos does not want to thank Loki, so he simply nods and puts a hand on the bookshelf to pull himself up. His head protests this, so he slips on his _Archmage of Xadia_ face, which does not show pain of any kind, and deliberately raises his chin and puts his shoulders back.

Loki holds his hands up, ready for Aaravos to lean on as he makes his attempt to stand. “So is that a ‘no’ on the healing magic?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Aaravos, before realizing how that might sound. “I mean no. I mean you are correct.” He blinks several times instead of shaking his head. “Shall we see if your spell worked?”

Loki rolls his eyes. Alright then, if he insists upon being stubborn, Loki can live with that. None of _his_ business if Aaravos decides to stay in pain for the sake of his pride, and it is certainly not the first time Loki has had to deal with an idiot that wears suffering like a badge of honor.  
He looks over to the frame, no longer empty, but instead holding reflective glass. “Well, it appears your empty frame is a mirror again.”

“True.” Aaravos grimaces internally, wishing he could remember the healing spell he used to use for his headaches– the rune eludes him at the moment.  
Perhaps he should have accepted Loki’s offer. But no, he cannot show more weakness than he already has.  
“However, that does not mean it is working again. I’ll need time to test that.”

“Well it certainly did _something._ I did not put all that energy into a simple glass conjuration.” Loki crosses his arms, looking over the runes on the frame again and wishing he could read them.

“Well?” Aaravos looks to the mirror. “Shall we see what happened?”

Loki shoots Aaravos a wry smirk. “After you, this is your area of expertise after all,” he says, making a sweeping gesture to the mirror.

Aaravos smirks. “And you do not know how to activate it.” He takes several steps closer to the mirror before reaching out to the ever-burning torch, pulling the fire into his hand with a well-practiced silent spell, and extinguishing it.  
He is pleased to see the glass glow with the light from the other side. But–  
Aaravos looks closer. This is not Avizandum’s cave. This is not anywhere he’s ever seen.  
On the other side of the glass is a squarish stone room, filled with tables covered in vials and jars, which are themselves filled with _very_ familiar supplies.  
Aaravos’s mouth curves into a smile. Whoever has gained possession of his mirror is a Dark mage. He can work with this.

Loki is startled by Aaravos’s command over the fire in the room, but even more so by the fact that with the removal of the torchlight the light streaming through the window vanished as well. _That is definitely not normal._  
Looking in on the scene shown by the mirror, Loki cocks his head in surprise. “Not that I am very familiar with dragons, but that does not look like a dragon’s cave.”  
Aaravos’s smile also indicates that this is not the dragon’s lair; that is not the face of a man confronted with his captor.

“It is _not,_ ” Aaravos says with satisfaction. “Apparently, someone has _liberated_ my mirror, and from the look of it, they will be eager to free me.” His fingers twitch, thinking of the ritual he’ll need. “I already know what to do.”

“Eager to free you?” Loki echoes hesitantly. “You know that already? Care to elaborate?”  
Perhaps the objects within sight say something about the person in possession of the mirror? Something that would make sense to a denizen of that world? Loki cannot make sense of those clues, and regardless, he doubts anyone would be so eager to help a trapped elf out of the kindness of their heart. Does this mean Aaravos is certain he will have something of value to offer in exchange?

Aaravos considers this. “Not now. I’ve plans to make.” He turns, and winces. The first thing he will do is find his favorite book of healing spells and _fix his damn head_. This may not be the worst headache he’s had, but it’s the worst in the last century or so.

“And do these plans involve me at all? Do you plan to share any information about our current shared predicament?” Loki scoffs. “I have shared my resources with you, the least you could do is provide me with the same courtesy.”

“When I can _think,_ ” Aaravos stalls. _Curse_ Loki for having a point!

“You’d be able to _think_ if you were not so damn stubborn as to refuse a little help for your pain! I expect as much from the idiots that think with their muscles, but I would think someone as educated and intelligent as you would have a little common sense about these things.”

Aaravos spins, the spike of pain in his temple only angering him more. “ _Fine!_ I was _going_ to heal myself so as not to trouble you any further, but _fine!_ ” He stalks toward Loki, tilting his head down slightly. “Heal me, if you want to so badly. Well?”  
Part of him wants to jerk back, to avoid Loki's touch. But that would be weakness. He stands unmoving, holding his head as still as he can.

Loki is not sure what to say at first, he is so stunned by the honest admission. He finally decides on, “It is no trouble, Aaravos. I offered, after all.” He touches his fingertips to Aaravos’s temple. “And I would have dropped it had you simply told me you had your own healing spell.”  
He begins the process, allowing healing energy to flow from his hands to Aaravos’s head. He keeps quiet for this, only focusing on the act of healing. “I am sorry, I should not have assumed you were like others I have known. You are clearly wiser than that.” He removes his hand, offering an apologetic smile.

 _Compliment,_ Aaravos decides. “...Thank you.” He straightens. “For both the healing and your apology, which is accepted.” He takes a breath. “I do hope you are not attempting to flatter me, though.”

Loki smirks. “And if I _am_ simply flattering you? I do not know if I should be insulted that you would think my flattery would not be informed by truth. I think myself capable of more subtlety than that.”

“Then I should accept the compliment and know to be wary of you and your silver tongue,” Aaravos responds.

“You were not already wary of me?” Loki chuckles. “What with all your evasive answers, I thought it was to keep an upper hand on me. If you are just now choosing to be wary, then you are either naive or arrogant. I am _certainly_ insulted _now_ that you had not thought to be wary of me before.”  
Having seen and felt the power that Aaravos is capable of, Loki is not surprised if he did not consider him a threat.

Aaravos curses himself for his slip. Perhaps now, arrogance _is_ the best defense. It certainly does not hurt if Loki thinks he overestimates his own power.  
“You may be powerful, but I am a force to be reckoned with as well. Besides, it is more difficult to be wary of you after last night and this morning.”  
The moment the words leave his mouth, Aaravos regrets them, but it is too late to take them back.

For a moment, Loki was enjoying their banter. He had kept a smile on his face to hopefully indicate that there were no _real_ hard feelings.  
He should have known better.  
Loki’s blood runs cold. His eyes narrow to slits, and he steps forward into Aaravos’s space, damning the potential consequences that come with the threatening gesture. “If you think the _infinitesimal fraction_ of understanding you have about what I have seen and experienced says _anything_ about my ability to defend myself, then you are woefully small-minded. All it says is that there are beings with power that you cannot fathom, power used for the sole purpose of breaking your entire essence down into nothing but suffering.”

Aaravos’s eyes widen in surprise when Loki steps into his personal space, then narrow. If he thinks he can just–  
Fraction of understanding? Power he, an Archmage, could not even _fathom?_  
And what is that last thing Loki says? What does it mean?  
Aaravos’s mind rebels against accepting this at first. No being could be that cruel. Nothing could be. Even the worst parts of Sol Regem, Avizandum, and Aaravos himself could, _would_ never do anything near that.  
“They did _what_ to you?” he murmurs. 

Loki is shaking. His mind and body are at war, a simultaneous desire to _stand his ground_ flee at all costs.  
His face burns with shame for having revealed so much. At the moment he thought he was defending his own strength, but all he has revealed is that it is possible to break him before he dies.  
His illusion magic wraps around him like a protective blanket, and he vanishes from sight, running to the door the moment he casts his illusion. He knows it is a cowardly move, but it is all he has ever known.

Aaravos pulls back from the suddenly empty space. “Loki?” he calls. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the nearly-closed door open just enough for someone to slip through, then close again.  
Cursed moon illusions.  
Aaravos crosses to the door, opening it to call loudly, in as bored a tone as he can muster, “When you feel like returning, I will be here. I intend to catch up on my reading.”  
There isn’t a book in this library he hasn’t read half a dozen times already, and he doesn’t feel like studying. He goes to the shelf farthest from the mirror and selects a title, sitting back in the nearest armchair and opening it.

Loki is not familiar with this place, which makes running all the more distressing. He does not know what is on the other side of any of the doors besides the one to the kitchen and the one to the bedroom. Eventually he selects a door, opening up to a small courtyard.  
He remembers Aaravos mentioned a garden. Looking up, he sees a swirling opalescent sky of many colors, like the stained glass windows across the house. There is no evidence of a particular light source, just a gentle glow like the rest of the prison.  
There is no breeze, an unnatural stillness permeating the courtyard. Still, it is no more unnatural or unsettling than the rest of this place. He sits cross-legged in the grass underneath a tree, resting his back against the trunk. He always prefers it when his back is to something at times like this: one less side to be on guard for. He furiously wipes at the tears running down his cheeks, frustrated that he cannot seem to get angry without crying.  
_This garden is in desperate need of some wildlife._ Loki thinks. He starts by conjuring a colorful bird illusion in the palm of his hand. It hops in his palm and chirps before taking flight, its red and blue wings catching the light as it flits through the small space. He adds a few more birds, keeping focus on having them weave around each other in flight, making spirals and complicated loops.  
_Now that we reestablished the link to Xadia, do I need Aaravos anymore? Could I break through once my strength is recovered?  
That would likely mean leaving Aaravos behind, since this place was designed to keep him prisoner.  
What do I owe him? I could leave him here, could I not? Whatever he did to end up here is not my responsibility.  
I told him I would help him…  
And I did help him, I brought the mirror back. I can leave and nothing will have really changed in his life. As if I was never here.  
But I was. And I am not likely to soon forget him._  
Damn his conscience. Loki sighs, waving away the illusion of the birds so they dissolve into the nothingness from which they came. He knows he has to keep his composure better. Why does this elf get to him so?

 _She folds her arms. “I still don’t like you. Go away.”  
He chuckles. "No, you love me."_  
Aaravos closes the book, keeping his place with his thumb. _Hello, My Old Heart_ is one of his favorite novels, but he just cannot focus on it today. Antares and Lyra’s romance does not keep his interest like it usually does; his thoughts keep straying to Loki instead.  
His words, the expression on his face as he shouted at Aaravos. He could not have been anything but sincere, particularly given his reaction afterwards.  
And that means that somewhere, in some world, is something that should not be allowed to exist.  
Loki’s flight, and the speed at which he went invisible, indicates he’s done this many times. A defense, most likely. But he is skilled in magic; that _fleeing invisibly_ was his first recourse is troubling.  
_Will he come back?_ Aaravos wonders.  
Moments later, his question is answered.

Having regained some measure of control over his emotions, and conjuring a mirror to confirm that his face has returned to normal color and does not betray the fact that he cried, Loki stands and exits the garden.  
He pauses in the hall, debating whether to go to the library or literally anywhere else.  
He is still curious about the workings of Xadian magic, and curiosity has always been one of his weaknesses. Loki straightens his shoulders and strides into the library as if nothing had happened, determined to maintain whatever vestiges of his pride are left.  
He grabs the book _Six Sources_ from the table he set it on earlier, and flips open to the first page on the moon arcanum. Reading as he walks, he finds a seat in the corner of the library, propping himself against the wall.

Aaravos lifts his book up, hiding his face as Loki walks in, shoulders back, so composed Aaravos is sure it’s a performance. Peering over the top, he watches as Loki picks up _Six Sources_ and opens it even before he leans against the wall to read.  
“I…” Aaravos lowers the book to his lap, letting it close over his fingers. “Loki. I…” _I do not see what I did wrong._ He reminds himself, _I do not know how long we will need to live together. This is necessary._ “I apologize. I did not intend to hurt you.” He glances at his lap, idly fanning through the pages of his book. It does not matter much if he loses his place.

Loki glances up from the book. “You must think me very weak indeed to be so hurt by a few callous words.” He catches a glimpse of the book Aaravos has in his lap, an illustration of a fawning woman held in the arms of a strapping, half naked man. He snorts lightly in a half laugh at the ridiculousness of the cover art. “Interesting choice of literature.”

Aaravos looks down, face burning when he sees the cover. “I… had forgotten… the cover…” He slams the book shut, face down on his lap. “I–”

 _Oh he doesn’t think we’re done with_ that _does he? Not when it makes for a much better change of subject._ Loki leaps up in a flash and snatches the book from Aaravos. He flips open to a random page and begins reading the cheesy lines aloud.  
“Antares cuts Lyra off with an intense kiss, pressing his mouth to hers as if he has been parched and she is his only source of water. He holds her tight against him, crushing yet gentle all at the same time.” Loki reads, “Oh this is hilarious.”  
Loki seamlessly morphs into their female form, hair growing longer and figure adjusting. She presses the back of her hand to her forehead in a fainting gesture. “Oh, Antares!” she continues to read the lines from Lyra. “How can I hate you so one moment, but I cannot _live_ without your touch!”  
Loki turns into a man again to read Antares’s lines. “Love, hate, this is all just passion. Who cares about the particulars anymore?”

Aaravos ineffectively snatches at the book Loki is holding out of his reach. Stars, he’s tall. “Give that back!”  
Then Loki… turns into a woman.  
This is… unexpected.  
He– she is still reading from Aaravos’s book. Aaravos’s face heats as he imagines her saying that line to him, as Loki, before quickly banishing the thought from his mind.  
“Stop it!”

Loki morphs back into female form, prepared to continue reading as Lyra while evading Aaravos’s attempts to steal the book. She looks back to see Aaravos’s face flushed a deeper indigo, the diamonds on his cheeks sparkling a tad brighter. She grins, supposing he must simply be surprised at her easy shapeshifting. It must be something rare in his world.  
Still, she cannot resist the opportunity to tease him further, considering it payback for the jab earlier. “Do you like what you see, Aaravos?” 

Aaravos stumbles over his answer, cursing mentally. He should be better than this! “N– ye– give my book back!” He grabs for it again.

Loki relinquishes the book, allowing Aaravos to snatch it back. She has had her fun after all. “I would not have pegged you for the type to like those sorts of books, but I suppose everyone has their eccentricities.”

Aaravos can _feel his ears heat up_ as his hand brushes Loki’s. “Guilty as charged,” he manages, tucking _Hello, My Old Heart_ back into _the wrong spot_ on _the wrong shelf._ He’ll fix it later. He needs to know where his books are.

Loki looks down at her ill-fitting clothing, casting a simple spell on it so it fits more comfortably to her current figure. Not form fitting, just a little less clunky. She pulls her hair back, tying it into a ponytail. “I hope you do not mind if I stay this way for now. I had not realized how long it has been.”  
She stretches her arms and cracks her knuckles, feeling more comfortable in this skin. 

“Not at all,” Aaravos says, with only slight hesitation. “How long since what, might I ask, Princess?”

Loki sighs and rolls her eyes. “I thought you said you would not call me by my title. Besides, I have never been a princess.”

“I…” Aaravos runs through the conversation– only earlier that day?– in his mind. “I suppose I did. But if you were a prince then, why are you not a princess now? Are you not a woman now?”

“Yes, I am a woman, but my title was Prince, and that is what my father always called me, no matter what form I took.”

Aaravos smirks. “Well, if your title is Prince, then I did not agree to refrain from calling you Princess.”

She could strangle that elf. Loki summons one of her daggers, pointing it at Aaravos, “Call me _princess_ one more time and--” she looks down, realizing she has her dagger, and laughs with joy. “I have my daggers!” she exclaims, “I can reach my pocket dimension again! I must have reached it again when we connected with Xadia!”

Aaravos reaches out and pushes the dagger away with one finger. “I’m _so_ glad for you.”  
He thinks he can gather what a ‘pocket dimension’ is.

“Do you not understand what this means? I keep so many tools in my pocket dimension!” She grins. “And you can suspend time inside it, as well, or perhaps encase something in ice to preserve it.”  
She summons a peach from the dimension, encased in ice from her powers. She vanishes the frost preserving the fruit, returning it to a normal chill, and hands it to Aaravos.

Aaravos’s eyes widen. “Is that…” He hasn’t tasted fresh fruit in centuries, and his mouth is suddenly full of saliva. He swallows. “For _me?_ ”

“A peach, enjoy.” Loki keeps a few stashes of food in her pocket dimension as well. One never knows when one might be lost in the cold void of space and need a snack, and knowing she can give Aaravos his first taste of fresh fruit in centuries actually brings a smile to her face.

Aaravos chokes back a sob as he reaches out, not really believing the peach is real until he can feel it in his palm. _“Thank you.”_  
He stares at its fuzzy golden skin for several seconds before closing his eyes and bringing it to his mouth, letting out a blissful moan as a dribble of juice runs down his chin. _“Thank you, Loki,”_ he mumbles, mouth full.  
He never realized just how much he missed having fresh fruit, during these past three centuries. The simple peach tastes better than any feast he can remember.

Loki chuckles. “Shall I give you two a minute alone?” she asks.

Aaravos takes another bite of the sweet, sweet fruit, shaking his head as he does so and getting stickiness on his cheek. He swallows. “No. No, stay. We have my mirror and your pocket dimension. This calls for a celebration.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice  
> The song Aaravos was singing is Under a Violet Moon by Blackmore's Night, one of the songs I almost chose for another Dragon Prince fic.  
> As much as I love the whole "power hungry" Loki trope, I also love the "I never wanted the throne, I wanted to be your equal" Loki and that he might actually be uncomfortable being called Prince Loki because it feels like someone he never really was.  
> Yes, Tazerface only took on the name and then immediately died so Loki couldn't have met him leave me alone we do what we want here  
> Hello, My Old Heart is one of my favorite songs, and apparently appropriate for a cliche romance title.  
> Speaking of cliche romance, some of the lines were stolen from The Astronomer and the Mage  
> theoneandonlymagiscientist  
> Magi's spell notes: "Purificati" means "be clean." I love figuring out these Draconic spells!  
> Aaravos does like teasing Loki/pretending Loki doesn't fluster him. "HALP i have CRUSH."


	3. It's Not a Party Without Two Drunk Mages and a Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Aaravos celebrate their progress in escaping the mirror prison.

Sparingly utilizing the fresh food Loki stored away, the two mages prepared the best meal Aaravos had in centuries, far more flavor and sweetness than anything Avizandum had provided for him.  
“I am growing quite fond of your pocket dimension,” Aaravos admits, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “It seems quite useful. Is there any way I could get one?”

“What I stored in there has its limits, mind you, so we should keep that in mind for the future.” Today is a celebration, though, and Loki hopes that they will not be here much longer. “And unless you feel inclined to elaborate on the specifics of your powers, I would not know how to teach you, or if it is even something you are capable of.” 

“Hm.” Aaravos might have to consider telling Loki more, if it would mean he could get a pocket dimension. If he had one centuries ago, he might never have been imprisoned.  
“I am not so inclined at the moment.” Standing, Aaravos pushes back his chair. “I do have a little something extra to add to our celebration.” He pauses. “You do drink, I assume?”

Loki is not sure how Aaravos managed it in the first place, but somehow he is in possession of a spirit appropriate for special occasions. Loki is sure it was not left there by Aaravos’s jailer, and the elf is particularly tight lipped about how he acquired it.  
Still, Loki is not inclined to complain. She wonders if Aaravos will end up intoxicated. She is sure she can handle the alcohol, what with the potent drinks of Asgard and her physiology lending to a remarkable tolerance. Perhaps Aaravos will slip and reveal something in their celebratory drinking.

Aaravos holds up the bottle of deep violet liquid. “This is a–” he hasn’t called himself a Startouch elf in front of Loki yet, and he is strangely reluctant to do so– “an elven drink called celestiale. It has a rather unique flavour, reminiscent of the beauty of a starry night.” He opens a cabinet, taking out two cups. “I do not have proper wine glasses, but these should do.” Offering one to Loki, he begins wrestling with the bottle’s cork.

“Oh, allow me,” Loki offers, conjuring the proper tool from her pocket dimension. “Really, you have no idea how lovely it feels to have this back, it is extremely useful.”

“It does seem so.” Aaravos takes the corkscrew, quickly opens the bottle, then pauses. “Shall we take this into another room? The kitchen isn’t exactly an ideal place to celebrate.”

“The library, then? Or did you have somewhere else in mind? Because I have to say, the number of rooms afforded to one person in this place is extraordinary.”

“Perhaps my drawing room?” Aaravos suggests. “The chairs are quite comfortable.”

Loki shrugs. “Lead the way.”  
She follows Aaravos to a room a little smaller than the library, with a cozier atmosphere. Two chairs are set by the fireplace, with a small side table between them. When she sits, she sinks into the plush cushions. “Comfier chairs indeed,” she notes, leaning back with a slight contented sigh.

Aaravos smiles, then holds the bottle out over Loki’s glass. “How much would you like?” It is quite a large bottle, and the glasses are not too large. There will be much more than enough.

“Just a glass,” Loki replies graciously. “I would not want to drink all your stores, not after you have saved this bottle for so long.”

Aaravos shrugs. “I can get more when we are free. We deserve to celebrate.” He fills Loki’s glass, then his own, which he raises briefly before seating himself. “To freedom.”  
Perhaps he _should_ be more careful with his stores, particularly since this was not supplied by the Dragon King and won’t replenish, but he feels like being a little careless. Why not?

Loki raises her own glass with Aaravos in kind. “To a lovely partnership, hopefully a short one.” Tasting the ale, she is greeted with an elegant and effervescent taste. Aaravos was not wrong when he said it was reminiscent of starlight. It is a particularly strong drink, as well, though masked by the sweetness.

Aaravos adopts a hurt expression. “Short? You wish to get rid of me that badly?” He takes a long sip of his own drink, closing his eyes and letting memories of playing with other Startouch children long ago, and of his first taste of celestiale when he connected to the stars, wash over him.

“I only wish for us both to be free of here as fast as possible, that this alliance and joining of our strengths becomes no longer necessary.” She pauses, considering the elf a moment. “In truth, I have no idea what to make of you yet. I may come to find you unbearable with more time.”

“Unbearable?” Aaravos pouts, pretending to be more hurt by the remark than he is. “No one has called me that in _quite_ some time, certainly never another mage.” 

“Well I imagine no one has called you _anything_ in quite some time, if I am to believe you have been completely cut off from others these past few centuries.”

“Oh, not completely.” Aaravos looks into his glass, absently swirling his drink– how is it less than half full already? “Avizandum liked to taunt me occasionally.”  
It does hurt, being reminded of how removed from his beloved Xadia he’s been, how few or none of the elves and humans he called ‘friend’ are now alive, but he’ll stay in prison for another millennium before he lets Loki see that.

Loki supposes she hit a nerve with that last observation, but she says nothing, instead taking another swig of the celestiale. After a few moments of silence, the mood sobered so suddenly, she speaks up to get conversation going again. “I read in that book that there are six sources to draw your magic from. I already know you have the stars, do you draw from any others?”

Aaravos wags a finger at her. “Now, that would be telling. I do know mages who have learned to draw from multiple arcana, but it is _quite_ difficult to do, and takes many years to master. _After_ connecting.” He takes a long sip of his drink, maintaining eye contact for several seconds before finally tilting his glass far enough up he can’t, draining the last drops.  
...this may or may not be intentional.

Loki is reminded of post-battle drinks and feasts with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three. Not about to be outdone by Aaravos, she knocks back the rest of the drink in one go.  
...And then she remembers why she was almost always the one who chose to remain sober at those festivities.  
The effect hits her quickly, and in a last ditch effort at maintaining some better alcohol tolerance, she shifts into male form, where he has a slightly better chance at maintaining a smidgen of sobriety.

When Loki changes form this time, Aaravos merely lifts an eyebrow and says, “More?” as he finishes refilling his own glass and downing half of it.  
This time, he knows Loki can change shape, and he’s determined not to let that talent of his catch him off guard again.

Loki considers turning down the drink, but accepts, thinking (incorrectly) that the shift to male form had sobered him a little. The unfortunate fact about intoxication is that one of its effects is inhibiting the ability to detect said intoxication. After the first refill, determined (for some inane reason) to out-drink Aaravos, he downs the glass in one go, and holds his cup out for another.

Aaravos smiles and refills Loki’s cup. “So, Loki of Asgard, how did you learn to change your shape so quickly, with not even a word of spellcraft? In Xadia, shapeshifting is quite difficult, and takes many centuries to master properly.” He lets slip, “I’ve managed, of course.”

Loki stares into the violet drink for a moment. “If there was ever a time I learned, I cannot remember it. I have been able to change form since I was a baby.”

“A baby, really? And can all of your kind do this from birth?”  
What a power!

Loki smirks. “Give me _some_ credit. I had a natural talent. Shapeshifting was remarkably rare where I grew up.” _And from what I can gather, frost giants cannot do so either…_ The question, among a thousand others, plagued Loki ever since he learned of his heritage. Where had that innate ability come from? 

“Of course,” Aaravos says. “Natural talent. We both have it.” He raises his glass again. “To natural talent!”

Loki laughs, his volume less restrained than before. “Of course! To natural talent!”

Aaravos clinks his glass against Loki’s, then empties it again. He should probably take it easier on the celestiale, but there have been times he’s drunk four or five glasses this size before getting drunk. This is only his second; he’s fine.

Loki supposes that as long as Aaravos is drinking, he can as well. He downs the second glassful, and quickly regrets it as it starts to hit his head. He laughs, “Norns, no wonder all those feasts were so unbearable. I suppose you can only enjoy them with this kind of buzz.”  
Did he say that aloud?

“Feasts?” After two– no, two and a half?– full glasses, Aaravos’s head is beginning to spin as well. He refills his cup. “What kinda feasts?”

“We had feasts aplenty in Asgard, usually after one of my brother’s _glorious battles._ I was always fighting alongside him, but they were _my brother’s_ battles.” Loki snorts, half with humor and half with derision. “You know, it is quite nice to toast to me for once. Can we do another?”

“To Loki,” Aaravos says obligingly. “Prettiest princess in mirror prison.”  
...he did _not_ just say that aloud. With words.  
He _can_ flirt better than that, when he wants to. Loki can’t start thinking that’s how he flirts. He needs to do better. Because he _can._

Loki’s laugh has turned into something more of a giggle, and he cannot remember the last time he laughed so freely. “Not a terribly difficult title to attain last I checked, but I will take it. Besides, it is clear the prettiest mage here is you.”

Aaravos smiles, taking another sip of his celestiale– and immediately coughs it out. “ _Pardon_ me?” He coughs again, several times. The accursed liquid has gone down the wrong way. “Yes,” he manages through coughs. “Yes, I _am, thank_ you.”  
Loki called him pretty?  
Loki called him pretty!

Loki leans forward a little, smiling broadly. “Your hair reminds me of the clouds on Alfheim, that kind of soft feathery white. I miss those days, when I would run out into the forests on a visit to some planet or another and read or practice my magic. And your eyes are such a pretty gold, like the palace when the setting sun would hit it. You’re like the skies, a sea of stars in the indigo.” His smile falters a moment, then he chuckles, “You are certainly much better company than the _last_ purple man I encountered.”

For a moment, Aaravos is happy soaking up Loki’s words, basking in the praise, until the last sentence.  
“Of course I a–” he starts. Wait. Another ‘purple man’? _Another Startouch elf?_ He steps closer to Loki, closer than he likely would if he were entirely sober. “Another of my kind?” he asks eagerly. “Are you sure?”

Loki frowns. Norns, he _hopes_ not. That would put a damper on things. Besides… didn’t _he_ say the titans died out?  
“I really doubt he was one of your kind. No horns, no sparkly…” he gestures vaguely, “ _...stuff._ Not so pretty, just… pretty _awful-looking._ ”

Aaravos’s face falls. Of course, he hadn’t _really_ thought Loki’s ‘purple man’ was another Startouch.  
Just… hoped for a moment. That perhaps they hadn’t all left. That another had decided to stay.  
That he wasn’t alone.  
“No,” he says. “Not my kind.” Then, “You think I’m pretty?”

Loki sputters in his laughter. “Did I not make that clear? Or are you that greedy for compliments?”

Aaravos considers a moment. “Yes.” He lowers his head slightly, looking through his lashes as he sips (seductively, he thinks) at his celestiale. “You’re pretty too.”  
Dammit, he can flirt better than that! Why are none of his words coming out properly!?

Loki sprawls sideways on the chair, leaning his head over the armrest to look up at Aaravos upside down. “Oh, yes, my life’s goal,” he says, faking an earnest tone and stifling his laugh.

Can Loki hear how fast Aaravos’s heart is beating? It certainly sounds louder than usual in his own ears. “Is it really?” Words seem to have vacated his head now that he's looking down at Loki's mischievous grin.  
_Why is this so hard today? It’s only flirting. Come now, Aaravos, you’ve flirted with plenty of pretty men before._

Loki fights down his grin. “Oh yes, and now that you _bestowed_ this honor on me, I can die a happy god! Goodbye Asgard, goodbye Xadia, my life is complete!” With his increasingly intoxicated brain, he believes this to be the peak of a comedic performance.

“A _god?_ ” Aaravos takes another sip before standing. The floor is not exactly cooperating, so it takes him two tries. “I’m honored to host such an illus– ill– great presence in my humble prison.” A thought occurs to him. “If you are a god, why have you not yet left.” He waves the hand not holding his drink around, attempting to illustrate his point. “Gods have…” He can’t quite find the right word. “Lots of power. More than me, and that’s _lots._ ”

Loki swings his arms wide, spilling a few drops of celestiale in the process. “Yes, bow down, bask in my godly presence.” He giggles, a snort escaping him that even his drunk self finds embarrassing and undignified. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Is just another one of my titles, so you can’t call me that either. The mortals couldn’t understand us back when we traveled t’midgard more, s’they called us gods.”

...Aaravos _very_ much likes the sound of Loki’s laughter, so he carefully sets his glass on the floor and sweeps an elegant bow.  
Or, he tries to. He’s not quite sure how he manages to overbalance, his feet falling out from under him.  
“...I’m going to sit down,” he decides. This takes longer than it rightly should, but he can’t figure out why.  
Once he’s managed to get back in his seat, and refilled his celestiale (it’s only his third glass. Fourth _maybe_ (it is in fact his sixth)), he asks, “What’s midgard?”

Loki holds his glass out for a fourth (fifth, actually) drink, hoping Aaravos will refill it. He has not been this numb in a very long time, and he’s enjoying the feeling of detachment. “Nother planet. They call it Earth now. Is where the humans live.”

Aaravos holds the bottle with both hands to refill Loki’s glass. “No, humans got banished to the other half of the continent. Same planet.” He looks morosely into his celestiale. “Wasn’t _my_ fault, whatever they told you. Was that dragon queen who didn’t like my advice. Don’t even know why she bothered asking if she wasn’t going to listen.”

Banished humans? Whatever _they_ told Loki? “What wasn’t your fault?”  
Aaravos looks so sad and bitter, and now Loki feels sad too, and he does not like this at all.

“The um.” Aaravos gestures. “That.” 

“The um that,” Loki repeats, “truly very eloquent. So sparkle. Much smart.”

Aaravos nods in appreciation. “Thank you. Tell that to the dragons. They don’t listen enough. Great stubborn beasts.”

“So, dragons rule Xadia? We should just send Thor in, problem solved. He loved slaying dragons when we were younger.”

“I like Thor,” Aaravos decides. “Is he as stupid as he sounds? Dragons’re big. And magical.”

Loki grins. “No, he’s stupider. But he’s got muscles and apparently that’s enough.”

Aaravos chuckles. “I like him a _lot._ ”

“Not as much as me though, right?” Loki pouts. Aaravos has not even _met_ Thor and already he likes him!

Aaravos jumps up, nearly spilling his celestiale, and opens his arms. “Nope. Do you want a hug? I want a hug. Haven’t had one in…” He thinks for a moment. “More than three hundred years. That’s a long time.”  
Loki looks sad, and hugs usually help sadness. Also, Aaravos _really_ wants a hug from Loki.

“That _is_ a long time,” Loki agrees. He stands, swaying on his feet, and more falls forward than leans into Aaravos’s arms.  
All his muscles tense, a delayed reaction but some survival part of his mind telling him to expect a knife to the back at any moment. His grip on Aaravos tightens as he tries in vain to relax.  
“If you stab me, I’ll never forgive you.”

Aaravos tenses. Even drunk, he wasn’t expecting Loki to _actually_ give him a hug… but this isn’t a real hug, Loki isn’t relaxed.  
“Can’t,” Aaravos points out. “I don’t have a knife.” Slowly, his muscles relax, and he starts to put his arms around Loki.

“It’s very easy to hide knives on you. I would know.” Loki reaches down to pull a dagger out of his boot that he stashed when Aaravos was not looking. He holds it aloft before placing it on the table, still clinging to Aaravos with his other hand.

“But I haven’t got one,” Aaravos says again. This seems very logical to him, and he cannot understand why Loki is arguing. “I told you I don’t lie, and I haven’t got a knife.” He stops. “Well, in the kitchen I do, but they’re all for…” He cannot recall the word for preparing food. “Eating.”

Loki blinks slowly in confusion. “...You eat knives?”

Aaravos has to think about this. “No. They are for using to eat. And they are only for in the kitchen, so I haven’t got any. How many have _you_ got?”  
He hopes answering this question won’t mean Loki has to stop hugging him. He rather likes this.

Oh no, _numbers._  
And even worse, Loki is not accustomed to being in an embrace for so long. It feels weird, like this should be a choke hold or something. It is too soft. He squirms out of Aaravos’s arms, counting with the assistance of his fingers.  
Then, he stops, having already lost count, when he asks, “Wait, all of them or just the ones right _here?_ ”

Aaravos makes a face when Loki pulls away, but doesn’t try asking for another hug. Instead, he sits down on the floor, because the chair is too far away. Looking up at Loki, he says, “...which is more?”

Loki plucks another dagger from the other boot, then a couple small ones for throwing tucked into his sleeve, and another one from his back pocket. “Six.”

“Six,” Aaravos says. He holds up both hands with the thumbs folded in. “This six?” He goes to take a sip of his drink, but the glass is empty again.  
...he can’t remember how many glasses he’s had. That is not good. Plus the room is spinning, which is also not good.

“No that’s… wait… yes that is six.” The four fingered hand thing is weird. His head is hurting thinking about their math system. Or, no, his head just hurts. It’s throbbing.

“When the room is spinning like this,” Aaravos says, “usually that means it is time to sleep. I made that rule a couple thousand years ago,” he adds proudly.

Loki holds his head in his hands, trying to remember whatever magic he used on Aaravos’s head earlier to make it stop pounding. “Uh huh.”

Aaravos frowns. “We have to do stairs. Only one set, at least. It was smart of them to put this room on the middle floor.” He glares at the floor. “It would be easier if you would hold still.”

Loki, now curled up in a ball to accommodate his head pain, growls back, “I’m being _very_ still it’s this damn room that’s the problem.”

“I was _talking_ to the _room,_ ” Aaravos says with great dignity. He holds out his hand. “Come on, we need to go… that way. And up the stairs.” He pauses, then adds, “Do I need to carry you?” 

“That would be lovely, but I doubt you could.” Loki’s brain takes a moment to think through his options.  
Have Aaravos carry him. No, he’s too heavy.  
Get up on his own. No, just no.  
Be less heavy, yes.  
Loki transforms into a green grass snake, flicking his tongue at Aaravos in delight at his own stroke of genius.

 _That would be lovely._ So did Loki _not_ dislike Aaravos’s hug?  
...this is too many steps for his brain right now.  
“You’re a snake now,” he observes. “That is smart.” He leans forward, holding out his arm for Loki to slither onto, then manages to stand after a couple tries.  
Leaning on the walls and railings, he makes his way up to his room, where he realizes something he _knows_ he already knew.  
“There’s still only one bed,” he tells the snake.

Loki cannot speak in snake form, and if he turned back into aesir, Aaravos would have to drop him.  
So, by means of communicating his displeasure, he coils himself tighter around Aaravos’s arm, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his elbow.

Aaravos giggles a little at the funny feeling of snake-Loki’s nose on the inside of his elbow. “I like you too.” He pulls his arm closer to his chest and moves unsteadily towards the bed.

No! No, abort mission! That is _not_ what Loki was trying to say!  
The moment they reach the bed, Loki slides off of Aaravos’s arm to curl under one of the pillows, partly out of embarrassment for the miscommunication, and also hoping that, by remaining in snake form and out of sight, he might be permitted to stay and sleep.  
Tentatively, Loki peeks from under the pillow, slitted eyes watching Aaravos carefully.

Aaravos lets himself drop into the bed, careful to stay on the side Loki is not on, and reaches out a hand to touch his head. “Good night, Loki. If it’s night, it’s hard to tell here. Sweet dreams.”  
His head falls onto the pillow, and he lets his eyes close, one hand still on Loki’s pillow.

Loki, satisfied both that he can stay and that there is less awkwardness with him as a snake, snuggles into the underside of the pillow, a satisfying den to sleep in. Pleasantly warm, and headache fading, he drifts to sleep.

_“No!”  
Aaravos can do nothing but watch, tears streaming down his face, as his life’s work is destroyed. Dark, the other elves call it, evil, wicked.  
He calls it a different kind of beauty. And now it is gone.  
The elven warriors hold him to the ground, the mages casting their spells using the power of his nexus.  
If he had his full power, they would fall before him. Instead, he falls into the mirror, down and down and down and he will never stop falling–  
and he is alone  
and no one ever comes  
Not even death could free him now._

Loki awakens on his back with a pillow over his face. How odd, he recalls that just moments ago he was a snake in his dream, running from an owl, and in the dream he thought it would be easier if he was bigger. Loki supposes he must have shifted in his sleep back to his aesir form.  
Then, as he comes to more consciousness, he realizes that someone is holding onto his arm. He nearly jumps in surprise before he concludes that it must be Aaravos. Lifting the pillow with his free arm confirms this. The elf is on his side, arms reaching for Loki and clutching lightly at his arm. His brow is furrowed in his sleep.  
_I suppose I am not the only one of us with bad dreams._  
Loki knows better than to wake someone as dangerous as Aaravos when he is having a nightmare. Instead, Loki slowly and stealthily adjusts the pillow so he can stay where he is and not disturb the elf. Then, with his free hand, he rubs one of the hands clinging to him, gently stroking down the wrist and forearm.  
A soothing message to hopefully communicate to Aaravos in his sleep that he is not in danger. The crease between Aaravos’s brows shrinks as his face relaxes marginally. It satisfies Loki enough that he soon drifts back to sleep.

Aaravos wakes with a start. Something is _touching_ him. There is something on his hand–  
It is LOKI’S HAND. How did Loki’s hand get onto his?  
For that matter, why are they both in Aaravos’s bed _at the same time?_  
Aaravos nearly pulls away, but his eyes have adjusted to the darkness now, and Loki looks so _peaceful._ He’s not having a nightmare like he was last night.  
….Aaravos likes seeing Loki like this. Peaceful. Almost like he _trusts_ Aaravos.  
Aaravos settles back into his pillow. He’s not alone anymore.  
Someone _came._  
His eyes close lightly, and his breathing steadies as he drifts back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell neither of us have been drunk before?  
> Magi is responsible for the pun "CelestiALE" and Hope apologizes because she encouraged her  
> Aaravos's dream is based on "The Imprisonment of Aaravos" by TheImaginativeOne (https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215738)


	4. Two Disaster Mages Need to Sort Out Their Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Aaravos work toward freeing themselves from the mirror, but they also grow to enjoy each others company.

When Loki wakes a second time, unfortunately sober and with a pounding head that makes sleep impossible, the first thing he sees is Aaravos’s sleeping face just a few inches from his. Looking down, he confirms that the sensation on his arm is Aaravos still clinging to him.  
_NOPE._  
Every muscle in Loki’s body tenses. He is never drinking again. If he can remember correctly, he fell asleep as a snake. Why, _by the Norns_ was he a snake? How did that make any sense?  
Did they really share the bed? Obviously, given that they are still doing so. _Please,_ Loki silently prays (to no one, because to whom does a god pray?) _Please let sharing the bed_ in the most platonic sense _be all we did._

_“No! Wait! Stop!” Aaravos yells. “Hold still!”  
The pink hippopotamus just runs faster.  
Somehow, it’s running faster than Aaravos, and he knows this, yet he still catches its ear. The ear comes off in his hand, and he starts nibbling it. It tastes very pink.  
“I like pink,” he tells the hippo._

Aaravos clutches Loki’s hand a little tighter, and mumbles something like “hold still.”  
_Oh no no no no._  
Loki does not dare move.  
Then, of all things to come out of Aaravos’s mouth next, he says, “I like pink.”  
...It seems Aaravos is still dreaming.  
Which means he still has a chance at escaping without waking the elf. Then, it occurs to him, and he curses himself for not thinking of it sooner, he can turn back into a snake and slip out of Aaravos’s grasp.  
Loki shrinks back into the form of a green grass snake, and proceeds to curl back up under the pillow. Perhaps they can both pretend that Loki never made the mistake of shifting back to Aesir form.

Aaravos isn’t sure what wakes him, but now he is awake and stars his _head. AGAIN._  
Loki was here just a few minutes ago– no, probably hours, but it _feels_ like minutes. Aaravos _still,_ or maybe _again,_ can’t remember his healing rune, but Loki’s magic worked better anyways. (Not because he enjoyed the feeling of Loki’s fingers on his head, no. That has nothing to do with the magic’s effectiveness.) Perhaps he’ll agree to heal Aaravos again.  
With a monumental effort, Aaravos lifts his head and turns over. No, on that side is the edge of the bed. He turns back over. Still no Loki.  
That is odd. He was in his humanoid shape at some point, Aaravos thinks– or was that only a dream? He had several dreams last night, including one of _those_ dreams.  
He reaches out, feeling the space where he thinks Loki was. Still warm.  
“Loki?”

Loki peeks his head out from under the pillow in response to Aaravos calling his name. He realizes the bed and covers are still warm, so maybe he _cannot_ pretend he never shifted back to aesir.  
Loki slithers out from under the pillow, doubting that either of them can get back to sleep now, and shifts out of the snake form so that he is sitting upright on the bed in his usual Aesir shape. He hopes his face is not as red as it feels. “One of the rare moments I enjoyed any popularity on Asgard was when Thor and his friends asked me to cure their hangovers, especially when they could not go to mother because they were underage. I’m quite practiced at it, are you in need of that assistance?”

Aaravos blinks at Loki’s sudden appearance. “I thought you’d gone.” He lifts one hand to gesture vaguely at the door. “Breakfast. Why didn’t you?”  
_Why didn’t you leave me?_

Loki shrugs. He has no answer. “I suppose I was not ready to get up yet.”  
That is the best answer he can figure, so he is able to respond with a believable level of nonchalance.

“Hmm.” Aaravos buries his face in the pillow. _What does that mean? Does his head hurt? Did he want to stay with me?_ “Me neither,” is the best response he can manage.

Loki hops up from the bed, too quickly for his aching head. “So, breakfast? I could probably get us some orange juice, if you’re interested. I do not suppose there is any coffee here?”

“No, unfortunately.” What is _coffee?_  
Aaravos realizes his words are probably unintelligible, and lifts his head. “We should heal ourselves first. I should have my rune somewhere.” He rarely gets headaches, but the healing rune should be written in one of his many notebooks.

“Yes, I have rarely had to heal myself, I am uncertain I would do it properly. I usually have the good sense to not get injured in the first place.”

Aaravos laughs and immediately presses his thumbs into his eyelids. “I’ve had enough difficulty avoiding death. Anything that does not threaten permanence is a success.”  
External injuries were always easier for him to deal with than internal pain, though.

“Oh it is quite easy to avoid death, you just…” Loki stops mid sentence. How _had_ he survived so many near deaths? “You just… keep your soul in your body.”

“What soul,” Aaravos mumbles under his breath. How many times have other elves called him a _soulless monster?_  
What was a soul, really? Did having one even matter?

“Calling me soulless now? _Very_ clever. Clearly the years of isolation have not dulled your wit or people skills.”

Aaravos’s eyebrows shoot up. “I– you– no. I did not intend any offense. I–”  
_If either of us lacks a soul, it is me._

Loki can barely process Aaravos’s stammering apology, too tired and in too much pain to care. “Just, get over here so I can heal your hangover. We have a long day ahead of us. We cannot afford to rest on our laurels, I would like to get back to my world sooner rather than later.”

Aaravos sits up, leaning over to put his head near Loki’s hands. “Will you heal yourself, or will you allow me to heal you?”

Loki would like to keep touch to a minimum, so despite the fact that healing himself is more difficult than healing others, he answers, “I can handle myself.”  
He places a hand on Aaravos’s temple, and channels a flash of seidr to Aaravos, less gentle than last night for the sake of time. Besides, the shock to the system might help Aaravos with staying alert.

Aaravos’s head _burns_ with pain barely long enough for it to register before it is gone. Reluctantly, he pulls back. “Thank you.”  
A question that has been bothering him finally allows him to put it into words. “...Why have you not already left?” He hesitates a moment before elaborating. “You say you would like to return to your world soon. You seemed to teleport here. Why have you not already teleported away?”  
He can’t, ~ _won’t_ even think about what he _hopes_ the reason is. 

“Trust me, if I _could_ leave, I would have already. Apparently it is not so simple as how I got here, which was accidentally in the first place.”  
Loki does not know if he is capable of leaving or not. He has not had the opportunity to test it, but he suspects it will be no simple endeavor, given that this place was designed to be a prison.  
If he stays, and manages to free Aaravos, there could be considerable benefits to someone as powerful as this mage in his debt.  
Perhaps Loki does not wish to return to his original dimension at all. He has been on the run, trying to stay under _his_ radar for so long… being here, truly out of his reach, has been a weight off of Loki’s shoulders.  
But Aaravos does not need to know that.

Aaravos nods slowly, taking a moment to process this before he bounces to his feet and literally jumps out of the bed. “Then we had best get to work.”

Both Aaravos and Loki are accustomed to being the smartest one in the room, so when they are in a room together, neither is inclined to defer to the other. Loki wishes to focus on honing their magic and better utilizing their joint power. Aaravos, however, demonstrates an insatiable fascination with whomever took the mirror from Avizandum, certain that the dark mage is the key to their freedom.  
For the first week, at least, they decide to split their roles: Loki reading about Xadian magic so to better blend their powers with Aaravos’s, while Aaravos gathers ingredients and studies the humans that come into view of the mirror, observing their actions and learning about their goals.  
They do not share the bed again after that second night.  
"Night," as Loki soon learns, is a loose term here. Through his magic, Aaravos has full control over the amount of light in the small dimension. Due to his long imprisonment, he can no longer remember whether it is day or night at any given time, so he sleeps whenever he is tired.  
After the first week or so, Loki does too. Before long, their sleep schedule starts to overlap– interfere?– with Aaravos's, so the other mage helps them find a spell to enlarge the couch. It is difficult work, and takes several days to complete, but when it is done they have a second bed of sorts.  
The two of them build up a routine of sorts. They share the cooking duties, and whoever sleeps first takes the bed. If another needs to sleep while the other is still sleeping, they take the couch. At times, Aaravos eats breakfast while Loki eats dinner, but overall they find themselves spending a significant amount of time in each other’s company despite each mage keeping to their own schedules.  
The first week or two Loki values their solitude, keeping out of Aaravos’s way while they both set about their own tasks. Then, they find themselves gravitating to wherever their cohabitant studies. The silence they share is surprisingly comfortable. Loki finds they enjoy Aaravos’s company, and Aaravos is consistently thankful for the presence of another while he works to escape, even if they do not exchange words.  
Loki continues to have the nightmares, and Aaravos often helps them with the sleep spell he used the first night. Then, miracle of miracles, Loki takes the couch while Aaravos sleeps in the bed, drifting off without the spell. They sleep poorly, but no nightmares. They wake relatively rested shortly before Aaravos wakes, and though they do not mention it, they try to replicate a Startouch breakfast by way of an unsaid thanks for all the dreamless nights.  
When they share meals, they also share stories. Loki avoids talk of their family, and they certainly avoid discussion of Thanos, but there are many other tales to tell, of spectacular planets and alien species. Aaravos shares bits of culture with Loki, the myths and legends of Xadia. He limits discussion of his personal history, though Loki manages to pry a few words from him with time: “Startouch,” “Ziard,” “dark magic,” though Aaravos refuses to elaborate on the last. He even goes so far as to enchant any information on dark magic to vanish should Loki attempt to read it.  
This frustrates Loki to no end, and is the subject of more than one heated argument. Aaravos remains adamant, as he has seen the damage that dark magic can do to a person. This is a protection.  
Besides, if Loki is capable of Xadian magic, they should have no problem connecting to the moon arcanum. Aaravos cannot have his only companion harming themselves with dark magic when other avenues might be available. Yes, of course this is the only reason he feels so protective of Loki. No other reason.

Loki can go almost anywhere in the prison, but there is one room Aaravos tells him firmly to stay out of. The door is small and unmarked, giving no clue as to what the room might contain. Aaravos disappears into it frequently, usually after an argument with Loki or another unsuccessful attempt at getting the humans on the other side of the mirror to notice him.

When Loki finishes the final line on the fourth book on Xadian magic, this one on the specifics of Sun transformation runes, he decides to go looking for another tome. As he skims the shelves, he reaches a shelf with a row of interesting titles, more fanciful. _This must be the fictional section._  
Somewhat bored with magical theory, and needing a break, Loki takes a look through the summaries of each book.  
There are a _lot_ of romances, just as ridiculous as the one he caught Aaravos with on his second day, with equally salacious covers. Loki cannot hide the grin on his face. Who would have thought that the some thousand-year-old archmage would be so entertained by such repetitive stories? From what Loki could tell, most of them followed a similar plot: two people that dislike each other at the start, but grow to be completely enamoured through some cliche shenanigans.

Thinking he is alone, Aaravos trails his hands along the spines of his books as he enters his small, secret library.  
And sees Loki holding one of his books– _Kindling_ – and chuckling.  
“What are you doing in here?” he demands. _He should not be here. I told him not to come in here._

Upon hearing Aaravos, Loki places the book back on the shelf (two spots to the left of where he found it because he can tell how particular Aaravos is, and he cannot resist these small acts of mischief). “Quite the collection you have. How did you not grow bored of the one story that you had to have a couple dozen more just like it?”

“I told you to stay out of this room,” Aaravos growls, hands fisting at his sides. If Loki goes any farther, he'll learn why Aaravos kept this room from him.

“Ah, yes, I suppose you did, but I finished the latest book and caught myself wandering in search of new literature.” Loki shrugs. “I do not see anything in particular except some questionable tastes in entertainment that you should be so adamant about keeping me out.”  
He moves around the bookcase to check the other side for more books, but instead finds several rows of horns and antlers hanging on hooks.

 _This_ is why Aaravos didn’t want Loki in here. Are the romances not embarrassing him enough for the universe’s satisfaction?

Loki, still facing the antlers, glances to the side toward Aaravos. These all look very much like Aaravos’s own horns in color and shape, though varied in small ways. Sometimes a lighter blue, or perhaps an extra branch.  
Aaravos once said that all the other elves of his kind were gone, but failed to mention what exactly happened to them.  
Loki keeps his voice even and his face as neutral as he can manage as he spins on his heels to face Aaravos. “Fond of trophies? Souvenirs from past kills?”

Aaravos’s brow furrows. “Not particularly. I kill as necessary, and I see no reason to taunt those who might attempt revenge.”  
Why is this, of all things, what Loki chooses to ask? What could have prompted this?  
Aaravos does not consider the shelf. All Startouch elves shed their antlers, after all.

Loki nods slowly, materializing one of his daggers behind his back, just in case.  
“Why keep the horns of other elves, then?”

Other–?  
Perhaps it is better Loki believes them trophies. Aaravos’s face hardens. “I told you to stay _out_ for a reason,” he snaps.

 _“You should get back to your room, Asgardian,” Nebula, Thanos’s daughter, warns Loki.  
He fails to hide his shudder, but still attempts some form of nonchalance. “You mean my cell.”  
Nebula scowls, “You must be a decent actor, to have convinced Corvus that you were broken enough to be allowed some freedoms. Don’t waste it. You won’t like what you see if you go wandering too far.”  
“As opposed to the cheery sights that await me now?”  
He should have listened.  
Because Thanos values his “mission” more than anything, he likes to keep reminders of the planets he “saved.” A token of each population he culled. He found the trophy room, and he could not hide his horror when Thanos found him there. It ruined his act, and he found himself in yet another round of fresh tortures for the next week, to discourage further deceit._  
Loki pales, sufficiently convinced he needs to go now. “Right, yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

Something in Loki’s tone tells Aaravos he may have gone too far.  
But… not anger. Loki isn’t angry, defensive, or even sarcastic, like Aaravos might have expected. He sounds… scared. Scared of _Aaravos._  
The last thing Aaravos wants is to scare Loki.  
“Wait.” 

Loki pauses in the doorframe, almost out of the room. “There is no judgment here, Aaravos. I have known others that keep such mementos. I shall share the secret with no one.” He chuckles. “After all, who could I tell?”

Aaravos sighs, dropping the hand he didn’t realize he reached out. “They… are not trophies. Not as you were thinking.”

“That still does not answer what they are. They look to be elf horns.”  
Norns, he cannot believe that he trusts Aaravos this way, that though the elf has not made any particular effort to calm him, Loki’s heart eases at the sound of Aaravos’s voice.

“They… are.” Aaravos stops his hand midway to his own antlers. “They… are mine.”

Aaravos’s face has turned a deeper violet, the marks on his cheeks sparking like embers. Is this embarrassing somehow? “Yours?” Loki echoes. He walks back to the row of antlers. That would explain the similarities. “So, it is like cutting hair, then?”

Aaravos can feel his cheeks and ears burning. He takes a deep breath. “No. My kind of elf, Startouches, we– we do not have horns like other elves. We have antlers, that shed like– like a _deer’s,_ every thirteen years.” He swallows, his mouth dry.  
_Don’t be silly. He is not an elf. He will not see antlers as ridiculous the way they did once I was the only Startouch left.  
But what if he does?_

Loki grins, looking back and forth between Aaravos and the rows of antlers. “That is _fascinating._ You are unique among the others of your kind, then!” He lifts one of them off the hook. “I read that every magical creature in Xadia carries their arcanum in every fiber of them. Does that apply to the antlers as well? You could store all kinds of star magic in these, and then save them for an emergency? That would be quite the advantage.”

Aaravos’s body jerks involuntarily when Loki touches his antler. “Yes,” he says, controlling his voice, “my antlers still contain Star power. However, it is not possible to ‘store’ magic in dead tissue to use later.”  
He conveniently forgets to mention dark magic.

Loki carefully returns the antler to the hook. “I shan’t tamper with them, then, if there is still power locked inside. I can see why you might want to keep that to yourself.” He smiles at Aaravos. “They are all beautiful.”  
Then, he frowns. “But… you were almost willing to let me believe you were a person that delighted in killing enough to keep trophies rather than tell me about a simple biological function?” He slaps his forehead with his palm. “We may need to take a look at your priorities.”

Aaravos’s heart flutters at Loki’s smile, and the accompanying compliment.  
Then he frowns, glancing at his antler shelf. “Other elves have horns. They do not shed them.”

“What does that matter? You and your kind are a little different from the rest, that is nothing to be ashamed of.” He scoffs. “And you have powers the other elves cannot comprehend or achieve, yet you are embarrassed of such a small quirk?”  
... _Oh._  
...Loki realizes he is quite the hypocrite.

Aaravos shakes his head. “It is no ‘small quirk’; it is...” How does he explain this? “Before my imprisonment, every thirteen years I would have no horns like the other elves for _months._ I looked nearly human!” He runs one hand along the curve of one horn. 

“You wish to talk of _looking different?_ Of not looking enough like your kind?” Loki laughs and, with a wave of his hand, reveals his frost giant form. “Those I was raised with looked much like humans, but _this_ is the form I was born with.”

Aaravos jerks back in surprise when Loki suddenly turns a similar color to himself and– this is the most surprising part– his grass-green eyes turn blood red.  
He quickly regains control. “Are you _sure_ you have no elven blood?”  
Looking at Loki’s eyes, he cannot stop thinking of blood.

Loki shuts his eyes once Aaravos makes eye contact with him. They are the aspect of this form he is most self-conscious of. “I… this is the form of a frost giant. My… birth father… he was their king. I assume my mother was one of them as well, but I have no idea.”  
He breathes deep. “I was raised to hate my own kind. When I was a baby, too young to remember, I shifted into the form you know best. I was raised on Asgard, never knowing what I was, and everyone always told me that the frost giants were monsters, savage and unfeeling. I believed them. I had no reason not to.”  
He barely whispers the last part, “I thought they were my family.”

Aaravos focuses on his anger rather than the shattered feeling in his chest. “Your… family. They knew?”  
In the back of his mind, he wonders how Loki can be a frost _giant_ when he is shorter than Aaravos, but that is not the most important question right now.

“My parents did, not my brother. My fa- Odin, the man that raised me… he said I was abandoned to die for being small, so he took me in out of pity.” He breathes out a half-laugh. “He told many lies, though, so perhaps that was as well? I may never truly know.”

“Why not?” Aaravos asks, genuinely curious– and, he admits, maybe a tiny bit concerned. Loki’s laugh sounded more of a cover than a genuine laugh, even without considering the subject.

“Well, I certainly cannot trust Odin to give me the truth, and… I killed my birth father.”

“You…” Aaravos only has dim memories of his caretakers when he was a child, but he remembers enough to know he would have a hard time hurting them.  
He no longer knows if he _would,_ though that is a moot point.  
“If he truly did abandon you,” Aaravos says, “you owe him nothing. I do not blame you for wishing to hurt one who hurt you.”

Loki shakes his head, looking to the ceiling and holding his eyes open in an attempt to dry the tears rising to the surface. “Yes, you would think I was angry with him for leaving me to die, but I was not. I did not care about that. No, it was all part of my attempts to prove myself to the man I had called father all my life. I thought I could show him I was not one of them, that I was worthy of his love, by finishing the slaughter of frost giants he began all those centuries ago.”  
He smiles, but it is without joy. In fact, it feels almost like a grimace. “How ridiculous. He killed so many of my kind, lied to me about what I was, and yet I still craved his approval more than anything. I craved it enough to kill for it.” 

Aaravos rolls his eyes up as far as they can go, holding them there until they stop stinging. “What sort of man would force his child to _prove their worth?_ My caretakers were strict, always demanding more, but I never once doubted they cared.” He laughs humorlessly. “There was a saying, once. I no longer remember the exact wording, but it was something to the effect of Startouches being wonderful mages, but such ineffective parents the entire village needed to look after one child. It was not wholly untrue. And yet, there is a still worse parent! What a joke.”

“If it is a joke, then fate has a poor sense of humor.” Loki shifts into his aesir form again, rubbing his hands and arms to chase off the cold that seems to linger in his bones. “This was originally intended to comfort you about your antlers. I understand what it is to be ashamed of a physical difference.”

Aaravos rather wants to offer Loki a hug– he does look cold– but would that be weakness? Would Loki think he wanted it for _himself?_ (Does he?)  
“I can see.” Aaravos takes a breath, then, before he can compose his words in his mind and make sure he says what he intends to say, he blurts out, “For what it is worth, I think your other form is enchanting.”

Involuntarily, the corners of Loki’s lips tilt upward. “Well… you would be the first, but thank you.”

Strangely, neither mage cares much that the other knows their secret. Normally, Aaravos would feel threatened, knowing his shed antlers do hold considerable Star magic– but Loki still cannot use Xadian magic. Normally, Loki would never have shown another their frost giant form voluntarily– but Aaravos does not know anything more of frost giants than Loki has told him.  
Slowly, over the weeks together, Aaravos and Loki begin to grow closer.  
More and more often, they find themselves in the same room without even noticing, and little touches of hand to hand become more and more frequent. Often, Aaravos is happy to sit and listen to Loki talk of other worlds for hours, occasionally interjecting with an “I would like to see that someday,” or a “When we are free…”  
When did he start thinking _we_ instead of _I?_  
As time goes by, Aaravos checks the mirror less and less, in favor of spending a few minutes more with Loki each day. Loki merely thinks Aaravos watches the mirror while they are asleep.  
The longer they stay in each other’s company, Loki begins relaxing in ways they did not realize were possible. They become aware of their constant tension in hindsight because once they realizes they can turn their back to Aaravos without a second thought, they also realize that they could not do such things with many people before. They appreciate how Aaravos keeps a physical distance, keeps his movements fluid and slow. They begin to believe in their heart that Aaravos would not harm them. Little by little, they stop conjuring their knives for comfort, not feeling they need them for defense.  
Loki feels safe. It does not make sense, but they relish in the feeling.  
One day, three or four months after Loki’s arrival if he had to guess, Aaravos realizes he hasn’t so much as glanced at the mirror in– how long has it been? At least five days.  
He needs to check the mirror. _Now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know that Loki was going to reveal his frost giant form at some point. I confess that I'm conflicted about how I choose to portray Loki. He's ridiculously powerful in canon, so it wouldn't make sense for him to be so easily scared, but I am also inclined to remember the concept of "learned helplessness," in which someone who has had power or agency taken away underestimates their own abilities in the aftermath. With time though, I want to ease him back into confidence and power, at which point, maybe we'll get to see Aaravos be like "oh shit he's a little scary." Because Loki deserves that.


	5. Silence is Golden and so is Fire (Depending on the Chemical Makeup of the Material it's Burning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Aaravos move forward with plans to escape, but they aren't working together, and such things have consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're diverging just a _little_ from Dragon Prince canon here. And MCU canon was barely involved to begin with. Enjoy!

Viren is nearly asleep the first time he sees _him._ A tall, purple-skinned man– no, he must be an elf– in Thunder’s mirror. His dark cloak swirls around him as he stalks across the room, scanning the bookshelves.  
He turns, and his gaze falls on the mirror. Instinctively, Viren pulls away, but the elf merely sighs and turns to leave.  
“No!” Viren leaps to his feet, clutching at the mirror’s frame. “No, don’t go!” The elf is the only thing he’s seen in the mirror! He _must_ be important!  
And someone comes back through the door.  
Viren startles again to see a _different_ man, this one seemingly human, walk into the room and stare at the mirror. His lips move as if saying something, but Viren cannot hear the words.  
Two men imprisoned in the dragon's mirror? And one a human?  
Viren’s desire to solve the mystery of the mirror grows daily, until one day, as he looks at the mirror… the elf looks back.

It is still dark when Aaravos runs, cat-footed, to the library, stopping and continuing calmly to the mirror, in case the dark mage has somehow figured out the mirror’s secret.  
The man does not see Aaravos at first, as he expected. Then the man extinguishes his candle and approaches the mirror.  
_He knows._  
Aaravos smiles, and places a hand on the glass.

Loki raises an eyebrow when Aaravos suddenly drops his book and dashes out of the room. Then, he returns to his reading.  
He is certain that Aaravos will alert him if there is an emergency.

Aaravos looks at the mage steadily for several seconds, then nods once and turns to leave. He knows exactly where the things he needs are; he collected them all over the past few months, arranging them carefully close by, but not within sight (just in case Avizandum reacquired the mirror).  
The mage is somewhat upset when Aaravos returns, as if he thought Aaravos had _left._  
….perhaps that makes sense, considering that he cannot know Aaravos is imprisoned.  
Aaravos shows the mage his ingredients, doing his best to make clear that the mage needs those same ingredients. He knows he has succeeded when the mage returns with one item after the next.  
_Where is Loki?_ he wonders as he begins sewing. Once, he would have been glad that Loki was not watching him do magic; now, his absence feels strange.  
He concentrates on his stitches.

Aaravos has been gone a while, and so Loki feels safe enough to conjure his secret notebook, looking over his list: a list of places to take Aaravos once they are both free.  
At the top of the list is Vanaheim. There is a statue of his mother there, and he wants to say hello to her, maybe even introduce Aaravos, for some reason he cannot identify.  
He adds Knowhere to the list, hoping that they can trade one of Aaravos’s antlers, for a particularly rare diamond that was taken from the people of Nilfgaard. If they can bring it back to them, then they might be afforded the privilege of entering the caverns below the planet. The sparkling of the crystals there reminds Loki of Aaravos’s cheeks. Something like that is bound to appeal to Aaravos’s vanity.

Finishing the rune, Aaravos drapes the cloth over the rock– a rare geode– and waits for the mage to do the same before raising his pestle and bringing it down with a loud _crack!_ He smashes the stone more, grinding it up before pouring the powder into his goblet. Water and a few more dark magic ingredients join the powder, then he swirls the thick liquid and raises the cup to his lips, watching the mage carefully.  
After they drink, the ritual only needs one more step to complete. But–  
Something twists in Aaravos’s stomach. He hasn’t told Loki of his plan. He’s had months, but he hasn’t said a word.  
What will Loki think of this?

Thinking about the Nilfgaard caverns reminds Loki of something he has not tried.  
Nothing has worked to escape this dimension, but this... He summons the small rod of metal, not much bigger than a pencil lead, a special metal alloy from Nilfgaard, forged in the core of the planet. He sends his magic through it like an electric current. The energies spark and fizzle and he can feel the barriers of this small universe bending ever so slightly, like a fabric just about to tear.  
He could step through! He has done it! All he needed was the right component to combine his magic with and…  
This will only free him. He can feel it, that it is only enough to take him on a one way trip out of this world.  
His magic dissipates. _Why,_ Norns damnit, can he not leave? Aaravos is not his responsibility! What does he owe him?  
But he cannot, and he knows he cannot tell Aaravos either, or else Aaravos might convince him to leave, and he cannot do that. He cannot leave the only friend he has in this or any other universe.

Aaravos hesitates a moment as he puts the knife to his palm. If he does this–  
The mage glares at him, saying something he cannot hear. Aaravos cannot conceal his surprise when the mage _covers the mirror!_  
Well. At least this means another chance to tell Loki.  
….But Loki will see it as a betrayal. Aaravos can't tell him. He'll think Aaravos is trying to leave him here alone, but Aaravos _will_ come back when he is free. It will be easier to free Loki from the other side.  
No, Aaravos decides, Loki is more likely to be hurt if Aaravos does not tell him.  
Mind made up, he leaves the library.

Loki hears Aaravos approaching and banishes the metal rod to his pocket dimension. His heart beats a little faster, almost like guilt, as he grabs the notebook he was writing in to continue as if nothing happened while Aaravos was gone.  
Aaravos returns to the sitting room, and Loki does not glance up from his book. “I assume there was no crisis? You dashed out of here rather suddenly.” 

“No, no crisis,” Aaravos responds. He swallows, suddenly feeling very anxious. “I… need to tell you something.”

Loki shuts the book, even more nervous for some reason. He does not want to hear whatever it is that Aaravos has to tell him, as he is almost certain it is not anything good. “Right now? It is urgent?”

"Somewhat, yes.” Aaravos is already getting antsy, not sure when the mage will return.

Loki smirks. “Come now, Aaravos. It is not as if anything happens here. Besides, I would like to know your opinion on something. Now, before you say ‘no,’ hear me out and know that no one would have to know they were once yours.”

“Know _what_ were once mine?” Aaravos demands, forgetting he still needs to tell Loki about the dark mage.

“Well, there’s a specific place I would like to take you once we are free, but… well, they are not always happy to see me. To be fair, I did kind of deface one of their sacred sites. _However,_ if we were to return a valuable relic to them, they might give us passage. To get said item, we would have to trade one of your old antlers. I have a feeling you would get on well with The Collector. He would certainly find you fascinating.”

Aaravos’s hands fly to his antlers. “Trade one of _my antlers?”_ Trade so much power away? For what?  
Something else in that bothers him. “Someone called The Collector would find me _fascinating?_ I do not think I like the sound of that.”

“Not the ones currently on your head, of course! He need not even know they are yours since that is so embarrassing for you.” Loki shrugs. “He finds any unique species interesting. He’s an old immortal that decided to set about collecting one of everything in the universe so he would never get bored, since his lifespan is directly connected to his will to live. An impossible task gives him something to live for. He never _forces_ anything into his collection, only makes willing trades. He would not be able to resist the horns of a creature never seen before, meaning he will part with the Nilfgaard relic, and we can go to Nilfgaard and exchange the relic for passage into the crystal catacombs.”

Aaravos’s mind instantly flickers to the geode he just crushed and drank. What powers could the crystals of this ‘Nilfgaard’ hold?  
“Perhaps I could part with _one_ antler for such an adventure,” he concedes. Although then, he would have an odd number of antlers, one antler with no mate.

Loki claps his hands together. “Excellent, now I just need to figure out transportation. If you are going to tour my universe, we are going to do it in style. Ideally, we would have the tesseract, but that is in the vaults on Asgard and…”  
Of course he _could_ get into Asgard if he wanted. The issue is whether or not he ever _wants_ to set foot in that palace of lies ever again.

Aaravos laughs. Loki’s excitement is infectious. “I look forward to it! Once we have escaped, of course.”  
He should tell Loki now. That he has a way to escape, what it will do to him. But Loki is so _happy_ now, and Aaravos would hate to take that away.

“Yes, of course. I _did_ have a new idea, but first I need to research metal alloys in your world, and perhaps the sun forge.”  
Perhaps he could make more. The sun magic may have sufficient heat… and if there is a close enough material, perhaps Loki’s new discovery will be useful after all.

Metal alloys? Why would Loki need to know about _metal?_  
“I will get you some books,” Aaravos says. “Are you looking for information about crafting, about magical uses, about the metals themselves?”

“The metals themselves and their properties, I suppose, to start. If my theory pans out, then I shall move on to crafting.”

Aaravos nods, mind swirling in confusion. What could Loki _possibly_ want with metal? Can he even craft metal?  
“I believe I have a good book in the library. It was written for mage-smiths, and if I remember correctly it is quite a comprehensive look at metalwork, particularly the rare metals– which are possibly unique to Xadia.” He starts back toward the library.  
Oh– what if the mage is there? He’ll need to tell Loki then– but he would rather do it on his own terms– and he would much prefer if Loki had no contact at all with the dark mage. He does not know how dark magic will interact with Loki’s seidr, and he does not wish to find out.  
_Since it is also Xadian magic,_ a voice whispers inside his mind before he forces it away. No, dark magic is _different._ It _is._  
He turns, walking backwards. “Actually, wait here. I can find it faster if I go alone.”  
_Please do not question my logic._

“Am I banned from _this_ library as well, now, Aaravos? What could be worse than your ‘trophy’ wall?” he asks with a chuckle at the memory.

Aaravos winces slightly at the memory of that misunderstanding. “No, just… I will be faster alone!” Before Loki can say another word, he walks _very quickly but not running_ to the library. A quick glance confirms that the mirror is still covered on the other side.  
He takes barely a minute to find the book, as this is one of the ones Loki hasn’t intentionally misplaced.

Loki takes the book from Aaravos with a soft “thanks,” and a skeptical glance at Aaravos. Perhaps Aaravos is mad at Loki for messing with his books? “I suppose I shall get started… unless there was something else?”

 _Tell him. This is as good a time as any._  
“...Thank you for not moving this one.”

Loki will later regret choosing not to press the issue. He can tell something is wrong, but whether he wishes to keep the peace, or maybe because he dreads whatever it is that Aaravos had to tell him, he does not ask. He just takes the book to the sitting room without another word.

...Is Loki angry with Aaravos now?

* * *

Loki regularly finds himself tempted to leave over the next couple of days, or whatever passes for days in the mirror. He keeps retrieving that little metal rod and fiddling with it, considering what he knows about Aaravos and what he knows about himself. The past few years he has allowed himself to be selfish in ways he was never permitted for most of his life.  
But the past few years have also been lonely. He does not want to believe that he must choose between companionship and personal freedom. He wants to believe he can be who he is and still have a few good friends in his life, maybe even a family, but must he always be sacrificing his own well-being?  
Every time he thinks about leaving on his own, he also reasons that _one more day is not **too much** of a sacrifice,_ and he stays.

Ever since the dark mage covered the mirror, Aaravos has been unable to concentrate on anything for long. He spends most of his time busying himself in the library, watching the mirror near-constantly.  
He feels guilty every time Loki does not even argue with him, just gets a strange look on his face and leaves. But, he reasons, Loki will understand soon. When Aaravos and the mage finish the ritual, and Aaravos is guaranteed freedom, he’ll find a way to free Loki too. It will be easier from the other side; he’s sure Avizandum had a failsafe in case he ever needed Aaravos again. All he needs to do is find that and force the Dragon King to…. open the mirror, or dissolve it, or whatever method would free Loki.  
Not too much of a problem.  
He’s dusting when he notices the cover move out of the corner of his eye. Immediately, he drops everything and darts to the table by the mirror.  
By the time the cover is gone, he’s standing serenely, holding his knife.

Loki arranges the vials of various metals he has been able to collect throughout the prison, small samples from furniture, utensils, and other tools. He doubts any of them will have the properties he needs, but he wants to _try._  
First, he can try a flame test, see what colors they burn and work from there.

Aaravos smiles, pressing his blade into his palm and watching the mage do the same. He holds his hand over the goblet from days ago, letting several drops of blood fall before healing it with a quiet spell.  
Time for the final spellwork.  
“ _Vox et eruca_ ,” he murmurs, and opens his mouth.  
His voice, transformed into a small, deep violet caterpillar, crawls out of his mouth. He places it in the goblet and casts a silent spell, and watches as the insect crawls out on the other side of the mirror.  
Perhaps he is still imprisoned, but it gives him such a rush of power to know that even that one small part of him is free.

Green, no. Yellow, no. Yellow again, no.  
Loki huffs in frustration. It is beginning to appear that none of these metals will have the properties he is looking for.

Aaravos waits until the caterpillar is curled on the mage’s ear before commanding, “Speak.”  
His voice sounds strange, echoing inside his head. But he can hear the mage’s gasp of surprise– he can _hear_ it– and so he adds, “Speak, that I may hear your voice.”  
“Who are you?” the mage demands.  
Aaravos sighs in pleasure. “Too long have I waited to hear the sound of another voice. How may I serve you?”

Loki took great care with these tests, as fire is not something to be used lightly in a scientific setting.  
But he did not notice the spark that flew and landed on a few notes he made nearby. As it turns out, the paper he used is even more flammable than most. It lit up in a blaze. _That is not good._

“Answer me!” the mage demands. “Who are you? Why is there a human in the mirror with you?”  
Aaravos freezes. The mage saw Loki? _Stars, no._  
Almost instantly, he unfreezes and laughs. “Human? There is no human in here.”  
“Then who was the man I saw?”  
Aaravos is about to answer when he catches a whiff of a familiar scent… and not a good one.  
“Oh, stars,” he murmurs aloud. “Stars, no.”  
And he takes off running, ignoring the mage’s confused shouts.

Loki looks up to see Aaravos bursting through the door just as he is putting out the flame with his jotun powers. A blast of ice swiftly extinguished the would-be blaze, but it left a terrible burning smell behind. 

“What–” Aaravos remembers his voice is on the other side of the mirror, and looks around frantically for something to write with. He finds a pencil and a sheet of clean, unburned paper, and scribbles, _“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE????”_

Loki grins sheepishly. “Science?”  
His eyes dart between the paper and Aaravos’s face. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

For all his knowledge, reading lips was never something Aaravos was good at. He can understand meanings from body language, but he prefers not to leave communication to chance.  
He writes, _“I cannot hear you,”_ and holds the paper out to Loki.  
He can guess what Loki’s question was, though.

Loki frowns. He uses illusion magic to write in the air, much more efficient than using pen and paper. “What in the nine realms is going on? What happened to your voice and hearing? Did a spell go wrong? Do you need help?”  
He hopes it is not permanent… he misses Aaravos’s voice already.

Oh, stars above, Aaravos hates this. If only he could have gotten through this whole ordeal without ever having to tell Loki.  
_“No… my spell is working perfectly. I,”_ he winces, hand trembling slightly as he writes, _“began a spell to”_  
How should he word this?  
_“to secure our freedom. It requires the temporary loss of my voice and hearing, though there may be moments when I have them. What were_ you _doing?”_  
He chooses to ignore the mage’s calls of, “Elf! Where did you go? Come back, I order you!”

Loki scoffs. _“ _My_ crisis has been averted, _yours_ is still ongoing.”_ He is tempted to keep pressing Aaravos, but first he decides he can reassure him that there was no danger. _“I was doing some experiments, I accidentally caught some paper on fire. If I had known you had a plan all along to free us, I might not have bothered. What sort of plan is this? Why did you not tell me?”_

_“I tried,”_ Aaravos writes.  
That does not feel like enough. _“There is a mage on the other side of the mirror. I performed a ritual that allows me to speak to him by sending my voice to him. He will help me secure our freedom.”_

_“And this was sudden, I suppose?”_ Loki writes, _“When will you get your voice and hearing back?”_

_“Permanently? When the spell is completed. Temporarily whenever he sleeps.”_  
Now the mage is threatening to leave if Aaravos does not come back. To cover up the mirror and kill the caterpillar.  
Stars, no, he can’t do that! The caterpillar _is_ Aaravos’s voice. If it dies, his voice will be gone forever.  
_“I need to go.”_

Loki nods solemnly. _“Do not think we are done talking about this.”_

Aaravos glances at the words, nods, and strides out of the room and back to the mirror and the irate mage.  
“What took you so long?”  
“A small emergency,” Aaravos replies smoothly. “Nothing of importance to you. Now, how may I serve you?”  
“What is your name?”  
“My name would mean nothing to you.”  
“Where are you?”  
“I… do not know,” Aaravos admits.  
“Who was the man I saw in this mirror?” The mage is getting frustrated.  
Aaravos raises an eyebrow. “Yourself?”  
“If you’re not going to cooperate, I’ll leave again,” the mage threatens.  
“But you will come back.” Aaravos is sure of this. He can see it in the man’s eyes. He’s hungry for the knowledge Aaravos has to share. He might leave, but he will come back.  
The mage changes the subject. “I found this mirror in the lair of the Dragon King. It meant something to him, you meant something to him.”  
Aaravos shrugs. “Possibly.” _Well, who wouldn’t want to keep an eye on a powerful, imprisoned mage?_ “What do you need of me?”  
“Your name,” the mage says. “I need your name.”  
Aaravos sighs. The mage just will not leave this alone, will he?  
“...Aaravos,” he says slowly.  
A look of satisfaction grows on the mage’s face, and he plucks the caterpillar off his ear, dropping it into a jar, and covers the mirror.  
Aaravos curses. 

Loki conjures the metal from Nilfgaard again. He hopes that Aaravos has a good explanation when he returns. He hopes that this, whatever this is, will get the both of them free.  
He does not like the idea of relying on a stranger. He has only just begun to give Aaravos the smallest amount of his trust. He does not trust this mage that Aaravos is communicating with.  
Turning the rod over in his hands, rolling it along his palm, Loki cannot help but feel like he has failed. Perhaps if he could have found a way out for the both of them sooner, Aaravos would not need to rely on someone else. Why is he trusting some stranger with the task of their freedom instead of Loki? He thought he had earned more credit than that.  
Loki rubs his eyes, banishing the tears that threaten to well up. He can figure a way through this. He always has. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, in case there was any confusion, Magi and I decided that you can't create something out of nothing with magic, so Aaravos had to transfer his speech and sense of hearing to the caterpillar in order to create it.
> 
> Magi adds: Also, _vox et eruca_ means, pretty literally, caterpillar voice. I'm imaginative, I know.


	6. Curiosity Nearly Killed the Cat Because You Wouldn't Give Him a Straight Answer, so He Had to Go Looking by Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaravos still will not share his plans with Loki, and Loki has had enough of waiting, so he takes matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREPARE FOR WHUMP AND ANGST  
> Also note the new tags, there's some mild violence in this chapter, and also there's an unreality trigger warning for the content of some nightmares.

Aaravos spins sharply and snatches a book from the first shelf he reaches, not bothering to check which one it is.  
He doesn’t realize where he’s going until he looks up and realizes he’s at the door to the study where he left Loki.

Loki does not vanish the metal when Aaravos returns. Perhaps it is time he told him about his escape route.  
But first, he wants - no, _needs_ \- to know what’s going on with Aaravos. Writing in the air again with his illusion magic, he asks, “Why did you not tell me?”  
He hopes there is a good reason.

Aaravos pauses in the doorway, fighting his first reaction to snap at Loki. _It is not his fault._  
He shakes his head and crosses to his chair, burying himself in the book.  
Oh, how _annoying._ This one is a _history_ book.

Loki huffs, frowning as Aaravos completely ignores him. For a moment, he tries to sympathize with him, reminding himself that he kept his own plan from Aaravos.  
_But,_ he reasons, _there is a great difference between **researching** a **potential** plan and **going ahead** with some other plan._  
He does not like the silence. He hates not knowing when he will hear Aaravos’s voice again. He cannot help but feel like Aaravos is abandoning him.  
With a groan of frustration he stalks to Aaravos’s chair and snatches the book from him. _“ANSWER ME,”_ he writes.

Aaravos’s face twists in anger when Loki takes his book. How _dare_ he?  
The rational part of his mind knows he is angry at the dark mage, and at himself for trusting him at all, but all the less rational part knows is that he is angry.  
He snatches up a pen and paper so fast the paper crumples. Smoothing it out on his leg, he scribbles, _“It is dark magic, and none of your concern. I shall handle it; you should not be near it.”_ He still does not know how dark magic will interact with Loki’s seidr, and, angry or not, he does not want to find out.

Did Aaravos _really_ just dismiss him out of hand? _“I refuse to accept that. This is the first visible stride you have made in any plans you might have. Now that it is in motion, I deserve to know. Does this not involve my potential freedom as well?”_

Aaravos takes several deep breaths before writing, _“I cannot speak with you right now. I would say something I would regret. Kindly return my book.”_

Loki _really could strangle_ that elf.  
His face turns stony, glaring at Aaravos as he returns the book. If Aaravos will not give him answers, then he will find them himself.  
He storms out of the room, first to Aaravos’s secret library to pluck one of the antlers from the shelves, then to the main library where the mirror sits. Currently all Loki can see is his reflection, despite the darkness in the room. With a closer look, it appears that the other side is covered.  
If he understands correctly, which he is sure he does, the star arcanum is, in part, about truth. He has not “connected” with it, and he is not sure he ever can, but perhaps he can borrow a bit of Aaravos’s connection.

Aaravos notices Loki’s departure, but dismisses it quickly. Even if he is angry at Aaravos, there is little he can do in this place.  
The thought that he might try dark magic himself creeps into Aaravos’s mind, but that is impossible. Aaravos _knows_ he’s blacked out every scrap of information about dark magic; there is no way Loki could do it even _if_ it’s compatible with his seidr.

It seems to Loki that Aaravos thinks he is weak, too weak to handle whatever his plans are. He will not stand for that. He can show Aaravos what he is capable of, that he is a worthy partner in their goals.  
If Loki’s demonstrations of his own skills have not been enough, then he can pick up a new skill, something that Aaravos values.  
He grabs a book on star magic, looking for the right spell. He finds one, but realizes that he cannot draw the rune without his own connection. Tracing the shape of the antler in his hands, he tries to sense whatever power might be stored there, sending his own seidr through the fibers of the bone.  
There is a sort of potential energy that he can sense, almost like a battery: inert on its own, but with a little spark…  
He provides the push of power, and with a powerful surge, the antler disintegrates into dust in his hands. He can feel the magic there, inside him, having been pulled from the antler now with nowhere to go. It is not what Loki expected, however. This is not star magic; this is twisted somehow, like a star that has gone supernova and collapsed in on itself, sucking in the light instead of giving it.  
It sits on his fingertips, this twisted creation, and when he tries to direct the power to a rune, to the star spell he read, it is as if he is trying to force it against its own nature, force two like poles of magnets against each other. He grits his teeth, trying to overcome the push of this dark energy, both in determination to accomplish his goal but also in concern of what happens if it runs unrestrained.  
This effort is about as useless as forcing a river to flow the opposite direction. When the dam breaks, it shatters.

Something happens.  
Aaravos isn’t sure what it is, but something shakes the entire prison without moving. Nothing falls, but he can feel in his bones that something is wrong.  
_Loki._  
Aaravos slams the book down, leaping up and wobbling. Whatever that _something_ was, it is not over. Another tremor comes, nearly sweeping his legs from under him and setting his ears to ringing.  
He needs to check on both the mirror and Loki. He doesn’t know where Loki’s gone, so he’ll start with the mirror. Perhaps Loki is in the library too.  
_Stars above Xadia, don’t let him be in the library._

Loki fights to stay conscious, aware that he is currently sprawled on the floor. _By the Norns,_ he has not had a headache like this since… well… since _him._  
For a moment, he thinks the blast was the last of it, the concussive force being the end of whatever corrupted magic he held, but he can still feel it in his bones like a cancer. His seidr works to protect him, almost like an immune response to disease.  
His body is a battleground between the two forces, and, overwhelmed with this, his consciousness fades. 

Aaravos rushes into the library to see Loki sprawled on the floor, unconscious. His heart stops.  
_No, no, no, no, no!_ He hits the floor next to Loki. _What did you do? What is wrong with you?_ He pulls Loki’s head into his lap, and sees that his face is ashen and there are purple circles below his eyes.  
_No, no, NO! Tell me you didn’t use dark magic!_  
There’s a book a few inches away, lying open to a star spell about seeing past appearances. Aaravos glances at the mirror, and looks back down at Loki, understanding. _You stupid clever mage. Why could you not just trust me? You had to try to figure out the mirror on your own.  
Please be okay._  
He’s only known one person to use dark magic without training, aside from himself and Ziard when they were developing it. They were both affected badly then, too, despite taking every precaution and taking their time. The last person…  
Loki did not take his time. Loki did not have training.  
Aaravos hopes he wakes up.

Loki is no stranger to nightmares, but usually he wakes up once they get too bad.  
And he has never had nightmares like this before.  
_“You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.”  
He’s standing in his cell on Asgard, but the lights are all out. It has never been so dark here before. He goes to the wall that should let him see out into the hall, but all he sees is smoke.  
Aaravos’s voice comes from behind him, “You really are a fool, Loki.” Loki spins around to see the elf with a cruel smile on his face. “Did you really think he would let you go so easily? You thought this place was out of his reach?”  
“What are you talking about, Aaravos?”  
“How quickly you trusted me. Here I thought **you** were the silver tongue, yet all it took was a little feigned sympathy to your petty angst and you would keep yourself imprisoned to help me. How pathetic.”_

 _I need to get you to a bed. The floor is no place for recovery._  
Aaravos gently places Loki’s head back on the floor and stands up, then leans down to pick Loki up. He tries to lift Loki as gently as possible, but he is far heavier than he looks.  
There must be some spell he can use to enhance his strength. There has to be. Considering what he knows of the arcanums, it will be an earth spell, but he cannot recall any spells at the moment.  
He touches Loki’s hair briefly– _I’m not leaving_ – then stands and goes to the bookshelves, running his hands along the spines of the books until he comes to one on earth magic. Flipping to the index, he finds a strength spell with a rune and incantation so simple, he could not bungle it even now.

“I do not understand…” Loki’s voice shakes.  
“Oh, yes, I suppose you really started to believe I cared about you, even though I only gave you a few crumbs.” Aaravos shrugs, nonchalant. “I appreciate The Other’s methods. They certainly seemed effective, but yet you still resisted, managed to lose a battle that should have been easily won with your power and the chitauri.”  
Loki gulps. He knows he lost on purpose.  
Aaravos grins. “Yes, Thanos knows. I decided to try a different approach, and look at what we have. You had your freedom in the palm of your hand, yet you kept yourself imprisoned.” Aaravos saunters over to Loki, patting his head like one might a dog or petulant child, “Apparently all it takes to convince you to give up your freedom is the barest of kindnesses. Poor little Loki wants someone to be his friend, how sweet.”  
Loki pulls away, swatting at Aaravos’s hand. “So it was all a lie? Your imprisonment, the stories you told me, it was all a trick?”  
“Now you’re finally catching on.” Aaravos reclines on a nearby seat. “That magic you were using, you were looking for the truth, were you not? Well, here it is.”  
“And why would you admit to this when your goal was to fool me into loyalty?”  
“We can just wipe your memory and start over again. I think I’ve quite gotten the hang of this, giving you **just enough** validation that you develop a sense of loyalty, but not enough so you still crave my approval. I took plenty of notes from your father, he was quite the master at it.”  
Loki trembles, stepping back in shock. “Again?”  
Aaravos shrugs. “I believe this is the fourth time we have had this conversation. You did not think that mind control was **all** the stone could do, did you?”

Drawing the rune pictured, Aaravos casts the strength spell on himself and returns to Loki. He is still heavy, but this time Aaravos manages to lift him without too much trouble.  
_I can’t carry you up the stairs,_ he silently apologizes, _so the couch will have to do. It’s larger now, at least._  
He looks at Loki’s ashen face, drawn in pain, as he sets him down. _What are you dreaming of, that hurts you so?_ He wishes he could help Loki, but primal magic and dark magic already do not mix well. Adding Loki’s seidr, and he does not think it likely that Loki would wake again, at least not as _Loki._  
He settles for tucking his legs under him and stroking Loki’s hair lightly. He cannot think of anything else to do. Perhaps a cool washcloth would help, but he does not want to leave Loki’s side.

_Loki frowns. “But the scepter was on Earth. I remember Heimdall kept me updated on the stone, it is protected.”  
“We got it back. Earth did not stand a chance against us.”  
“With my brother and all his friends defending it? You underestimate them.”  
“No, you clearly overestimate them, since we have the mind stone.”  
“And what would be the point of creating some other universe as part of this charade? Xadia and all its intricate magic and history? Why would you invent something so fantastical if your only goal was to fool me?”  
Aaravos begins to stammer, and Loki interrupts him as he tries to speak. “And I felt the magic of Xadia. You cannot fake something like that. It was not of my universe, that much is clear, and as absolutely terrifying as Thanos can be, he is no god. He cannot create something so new.”  
Loki stomps to “Aaravos” and grabs his wrist in a bruising grip. Five fingers, because that is what Loki’s mind is most accustomed to. “You are not my Aaravos.”_

Aaravos runs one hand through Loki’s hair again, holding his hand with the other as Loki tosses and turns restlessly.  
“ _My_ Aaravos,” Loki mumbles, the words clear on his lips.  
Aaravos’s hand stills on Loki’s hair. Did. Did he just.  
He _knows_ what his own name looks like when someone says it. And there isn’t much else the first word could be, given the shape of Loki's mouth as he spoke. But. How. _Why.  
His Aaravos. He called me **his** Aaravos._ Aaravos’s breath stutters. _His Aaravos._

_The false Aaravos vanishes into smoke.  
The smoke shifts until it coalesces into a new form: The Other. He bares his teeth at Loki. “A pitiful resistance, as always.”  
Loki stands his ground. “Have you ever fought back against an infinity stone?”  
“You will fall and break, just as you always have.” The Other advances on him, forcing Loki into a corner and pressing his hand to Loki’s head before he can escape. It sends an all too familiar surge of pain through him that forces him to his knees. Loki grits his teeth to keep the scream from escaping, but he still groans in agony.  
The Other removes his hand, leaving Loki trying to catch his breath. “There is no escape from this suffering. What is it you told those humans? In the end, you will always kneel.”_

Loki throws his head back, and he gives a cry of pain Aaravos can only see. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps now.  
What is going on in Loki’s mind? He is in pain, so much pain, and Aaravos _hates_ that he can do nothing to help. He feels even more powerless than he did the day he was imprisoned.  
Aaravos squeezes Loki’s hand gently. _I am here. I only wish I could do more. I wish I could take your pain from you. I wish…_

_Loki stares at the floor, his sweaty palms flat against it and his shaking arms barely holding himself up.  
He lifts his hand, flexing his fingers at the phantom sensation. For a moment, it feels as if someone is holding his hand. The sensation dissipates, but he tries to retain the feeling of comfort.  
A jeweled dagger materializes there, and gripping the handle, he leaps upward and plunges the blade into The Other’s neck. The creature that haunted Loki’s nightmares flails helplessly, only for Loki to stab him again. “You are wrong. You. Are. Wrong.”  
Loki pushes The Other to the floor, flat on his back, and presses his foot on the stab wound. “You never truly controlled me. I always found a loophole. I always found a way through, and I always will.” He adds pressure to the wound as he leans forward. “And I will never kneel to you, ever again.”  
Just like the false Aaravos, The Other too dissolves into smoke, and Loki smiles in relief at the victory. He has never felt so free._

Loki relaxes, face smoothing into a smile. Aaravos smiles back. This almost certainly means the nightmare is over, and Loki is on his way to recovery.  
He gives Loki’s hand another gentle squeeze and brushes his hair back before standing. If he can get a better look at the spell Loki used, he can figure out how to help more. There is a chance the star magic will stay with Loki, if it was a particularly advanced spell, and if that is the case he will need to teach Loki more about primal magic.  
Perhaps he should consider teaching Loki about dark magic– not the actual magic, of course, but enough about the theory that he won’t hurt himself like this again.  
Entering the library, his gaze flicks instinctively to the mirror.  
The dark mage is there again.

_Loki flexes his fingers again, the sensation having returned. He does not know where it comes from, but he appreciates the small sensation that there is someone there holding his hand as he faces his demons.  
“What a shameful display. A warrior should die before he gives in to his enemy, even in such little ways.”  
Loki’s chest tightens. It is his father’s - no, Odin’s - voice. He grimaces, then, with a deep breath, schools his face into something more neutral before spinning on his heel to face the allfather. Frigga stands behind him, or… Loki thinks it is Frigga. She faces the other direction, so he cannot see her face.  
“Allfather, Allmother, to what do I owe this honor?”_

The mage’s lips move, saying something. Aaravos flicks the tip of his ear impatiently. _I cannot hear you, stupid one._  
The mage huffs and picks up the jar containing Aaravos’s voice. He plucks the insect out and places it onto his ear. “Why should I trust you?”  
Several reasons run through Aaravos’s mind at once, some better than others– _because I am an Archmage, because I do not lie, because you need me, because **I** need **you**_ – but perhaps it is these four months with Loki that make him settle on the most truthful answer. “You shouldn’t… yet.”

_“You’re a disgrace. You brought shame upon this family, first by jeopardizing our hold on Jotunheim, and then by showing such weakness that you crumbled before your enemies, became their puppet in a failed conquest. After all I taught you, all I did for you to make you better than your kind, and what did it bring me? Is this how you repay me?”  
Loki cannot keep the scowl from his face, nor does he want to at this point. If the other visions he has seen are any indication, then this is not truly Odin. He does not have to fear speaking his mind. “It is the way of nature that a parent should raise a child, provide them with instructions and tools for survival. Should I also thank the stars for shining? Or thank the rivers for flowing downstream?”  
“You are not my son.”  
“And I thank the Norns for that.”_

“I should destroy this mirror,” the mage says. “Cut you off forever.”  
_Why?_ Aaravos thinks. _Simply because I told you the truth? Noted._ “You won’t,” he says aloud, tipping his head. “You need me.” The mage looks surprised, so he elaborates. “There is something you want very badly…” he hints. “I can help you to get it.”  
He smiles as the mage confesses that the other human leaders– “the _other_ leaders,” Aaravos notes, so the mage is also a leader of some sort– will not listen to him.  
“Then we shall have to get their attention.”  
Aaravos outlines the plan he thinks of on the spot, only half his attention on the mage. He should check on Loki, _soon._ He had not awoken when Aaravos left, what if he wakes and Aaravos is not there?  
“Do you understand?” he asks.  
The mage nods, a hard smile on his face, and leaves, Aaravos’s caterpillar still on his ear.  
As soon as the door closes behind the mage, Aaravos half runs to Loki.

_“No, but I took you in out of the goodness of my heart. The least you could do is try to be better than your kind.”  
“I thought we already established that there was no goodness involved when you stole me. All I ever was to you was a tool, whether for some dream of peace or to use me to take the throne of Jotunheim one day with all your own prejudices in mind.”  
“You were an abomination from the start, able to look in my memories and mimic yet another creature of chaos. I had to keep you out of the wrong hands. So much magic flowed through your veins even then. You were a powerful weapon.”  
“I WAS A CHILD.”_

_No, no, no! I should not have left!_  
Loki is tossing and turning again, harder than before. Aaravos isn’t even conscious of running to him, taking one of Loki’s hands in both of his in an attempt to soothe him.  
There are tears running down Loki’s cheeks. Actual tears.  
Aaravos puts one hand on Loki’s forehead, doing his best to keep it relaxed. _I’m so sorry I left. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please be okay. Please wake up. Please. Please. I’m here now. Please wake up. Please wake up as **Loki.**_  
He is not crying. He is not.

 _Loki can feel the tears run down his face. Who cares if he shows weakness now? He cannot bring himself to care about Odin’s definitions of weakness and strength anymore. “I was just a child. What kind of monster looks at a child with such selfish ambition? What kind of cruel narcissist looks at a **baby** for what they can get out of it?  
“From the moment you took me in I was forced to play a rigged game. All this talk of worthiness in our family but you decided I was a lesser being from the start. And now that I choose not to play your games, now that I see my own worth, you change the rules.” Loki shakes his head, huffing in disbelief. “Thank you for saving my life. Is that what you wanted to hear? Thank you for not leaving an infant to freeze to death. Thank you, great Odin Borson, for being the bare minimum of a decent person.”  
Odin’s face twists into an ugly scowl, his face turning red, a sure sign he is about to set into a tirade. Loki waves his hand, and he dissolves into smoke, just like the others. He can do without yet another lecture on his inadequacies.  
Frigga turns, tears in her eyes. Loki walks to her and takes her hands in his. “I know there was not much you could do. I know you did not have as much power in the face of Odin as you could project… but I still deserved better.” Loki’s voice shakes as he says the next words. “I am sorry I could not save you.”  
Frigga smiles through her tears, cupping Loki’s cheek in her hand and wiping at one of the tears. Loki leans into her touch, and his mother vanishes in a flash of green._  
And Loki wakes up.

A tear falls from Aaravos’s nose, mingling with the tears on Loki’s face as he leans over him, squeezing his hand more tightly than he thinks he is. _Please, please, please be okay. Please wake up. I am so sorry. So sorry. Please wake up. I’m sorry I left. Please. Please._  
And, as if responding to his silent plea, Loki’s eyelids flutter open.

Loki almost thinks they are still dreaming what with the sight in front of them. _Aaravos crying?_ Surely they are still seeing things.  
“I’m not even dead, and yet you have tears for me?”

Aaravos jerks back, scrubbing one hand over his eyes, breath catching when Loki says _dead._  
“I– I thought you were, you might be.” He chokes on the words. “There is a _reason_ I did not tell you about dark magic!”

Loki smiles. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, you silly elf.”

Silly elf. Yes, that is fine. As long as Loki is all right, he will accept _silly elf._ “I should hope not,” he says without thinking. His eyes widen in surprise when he hears himself, but he finds he does not mind as much as he would have thought.

“Besides, we are friends now, yes?”  
They hope their desperation is not audible. They do not want to think about the Aaravos from their dream, but the words ring in their mind that they want someone to be their friend. Loki is picky, they do not want just anyone, but they do want Aaravos. 

Aaravos’s eyes water again. “Yes. Yes, we are friends. Yes.”  
He realizes his hand is still in Loki’s, and decides to leave it there for now. If Loki does not mind, Aaravos would be happy to sit like this for a few minutes.

Loki sits up slowly, leaning back on their hands. “So… I can guess that what I attempted was dark magic. Does… does that happen every time? The nightmares? Seems very inefficient.”

“No– no.” Aaravos cannot think of any more words, the image of Loki’s pained face pushing to the front of his mind. Impulsively, he moves to sit on the couch next to Loki and wraps his arms around them. “If– if you need to, to talk.” He stops, then says, “I kno– I remember what it was like. For both of us.”  
Watching Ziard’s nightmares had been worse than experiencing his own, though still not so bad as watching Loki’s.

Loki is startled by the sudden hug, but… not in a bad way. Loki leans into the embrace, wrapping their arms tight around Aaravos and burying their face in his shoulder. They are sure that Aaravos can feel them shaking, but they cannot bring themself to care. After all, Aaravos is their friend, and Loki wants to believe that this is what friends do. They are not certain, but they hope so. “I saw you… in the nightmares… you had betrayed me. You were working for…” Loki swallows, and speaks the name they have not in years. “You were working for Thanos.”

Aaravos’s hands tighten around Loki’s shoulders. “I will never betray you. _Never.”  
Thanos._ He files the name away, locking into his memory the fear in Loki’s voice when they said the name. Whoever this _Thanos_ is, he has hurt Loki badly enough to enter their dark magic nightmares, to hurt them even now _through Aaravos_ no less, and he _will_ pay.

“I know you won’t… that’s part of how I figured out it was not really you.” They pull Aaravos closer in the hug. “Thank you.”  
They cannot put into words what they are thanking Aaravos for, it is a thousand little things. The safety they feel in Aaravos’s presence, the fact that Aaravos found them and stayed with them, the knowledge that he is a friend, that he will not betray Loki. They try to communicate it all in those two words and the embrace, as it is all too much to say with mere words. 

Aaravos nods, blinking in a vain attempt to keep his tears from Loki’s hair. “Never,” he repeats, not knowing what else to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the mediocre attempts at symbolism perhaps? And parallels to the source media?  
> In lieu of access to a therapist, we decided Loki should get the chance to literally stab his trauma.
> 
> Magi adds: I think we were about halfway through this when we realized Loki uses dark magic at roughly the same time Callum does...


	7. Honesty is the Best Policy, Especially When Your Best and Only Friend has Just Narrowly Avoided Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Loki's dark magic incident, Aaravos is finally ready to give some direct answers, and some other unexpected things come to light.  
> tw for references to death, suicide attempts, and torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is having a good week so far! I am so proud of how far Aaravos and Loki have come! We started with them barely exchanging several lines in the first chapter, and now the first half of this chapter is primarily dialogue.

Loki takes a moment to come back to themself, absorbing everything that has happened. Their long hair feels cumbersome and sticks to their neck from the sweat, so they perform a quick shift on it to make it shorter.  
Then, they look at Aaravos, finally realizing. “Wait, your voice is back. You can hear me. What happened?”

Aaravos reaches up to rub the back of his neck almost guiltily. “I… the mage needed help, so I told him what spell to do, and instructed him to take a nap first. I cast a spell on him to help him sleep. We have…” How long has it already been? “An hour or so more, probably.”

Loki looks down, averting their eyes from Aaravos’s guilty face to avoid dealing with all the emotions threatening to rise to the surface. “Then, is now finally a good enough time for you to give me answers? I want… I _need_ to know what is going on.”

Aaravos sighs. “...What do you want to know first?”

“I can tell that perhaps you thought, mistakenly, that you were protecting me by withholding information about dark magic from me, but knowledge is power. I do not need you to protect me, Aaravos…” Loki pauses, hesitating to continue, “I can sense there is a specific history you have with it, a special connection. I want to know your story.” Loki reaches out to clasp Aaravos’s hand in their own. “Please.”

It’s been so _long_ since anyone wanted to hear Aaravos’s side of anything.  
He looks down, at Loki’s hand in his. “Ziard. He was my apprentice, not my only apprentice but my only human one. He– he was like a son, almost, and dark magic was his idea. And… It… it was a good idea, in theory. Animals die every day, and if every other part of an animal was to get used, the meat and the pelt and bones, why not use even the last scraps of energy as well?”  
He knows he’s rambling now, but he barely cares. “And then smaller creatures, like grain moths, would die regardless, their deaths could at least be useful. Why not take the magic they possessed, give it to humans, who needed it and lacked it? It was perfect, in theory.”

Loki nods in agreement. “I came to the same conclusion, in a way. You need not even use dead creatures, if your antlers are any indication.”

Aaravos nods. “Yes, you see, that was one thing we realized after not too long. That since there was power in every fiber of anything connected to an arcanum, even things like shed hair and antlers could have enough power for _significant_ magic. More magic than anyone could have thought!  
“But… then it went wrong.” He frowns. “We studied for years before even attempting to harness the potential magic. Looking up theories, making our own, trying to discover if anyone had ever attempted what we wanted to do. We were the first. And finally, we tried.  
“I… Nothing we had found hinted at what actually happened.” Aaravos leans back, looking at Loki. “The nightmares.”

Loki shudders, still reeling from the event. They squeeze Aaravos’s hand and clutch at the covers to ground themself. They have been through worse, certainly, but even now it feels as if a small part of them was left behind in the dark. “What did you see? Do you remember? I am sure it has been a long time.” _You do not have to tell me,_ goes unsaid, more implied by the offer to claim forgetfulness. 

Aaravos takes a deep breath, and lets it out shakily. “They left. All of them. My kin, they all, they all left Xadia, and left me al-alone.” He realizes he’s squeezing Loki’s hand probably too tight, and forces his grip to relax. “It, it was a long time ago. It is no longer…” _It is no longer important,_ he wants to say, but that isn’t quite true.  
He changes the subject. “Mine were not so bad compared to watching Ziard’s. He went in prepared, and yet…”  
The words stop coming before he can say them. _Ziard, who he promised to protect, shaking and crying from monsters Aaravos could not see, could not help him fight._

Loki is at a loss for words. They wonder for a moment what they looked like to Aaravos in the midst of their nightmares, if they unintentionally forced Aaravos to re-live that pain. _Do not be silly. You could not have been more than an inconvenience. Especially to someone Aaravos clearly cared about so dearly. You could never hold the same place in his heart._  
“I am sorry,” Loki murmurs.

“And yet,” Aaravos continues, eyes unfocusing, “that was still not the worst of the magic’s effects. Ziard recovered, after all, with a new understanding of dark magic. And he was able to protect his city for years. He was a hero. And heroes are loved, and sometimes they marry, and have children. And then sometimes, the children want to follow in their parents’ footsteps.  
“Ziard’s oldest daughter wanted to become a dark mage just like her father, protect Elarion when he grew too old. She wanted to fight by his side. But dark magic takes a toll on the body and mind, and Ziard refused. Cassandra came to me, then, asked me to teach her, but I would not.  
Aaravos shakes his head. “She was brave, and stubborn, and she would not accept that there were other ways she could help. She _had_ to be a mage. And if no one would teach her, she had to teach herself.”

Loki gulps. “I fear that it went about as well as it did for me.”

Aaravos’s eyes glitter with tears for the girl he once thought of as a granddaughter. “No. You recovered. Cassandra–” His voice catches. “Cassandra tried a spell beyond her capabilities. Not a simple spell like I’d given Ziard, or the one you attempted. She, I do not remember exactly what spell it was she tried, but by the time we found her…”  
He gulps. “By the time we found her, she was half gone already.” He grits his teeth and almost spits the next words. “She _died.”  
Like I thought you would._

Loki nods in understanding. “And you feel responsible for that. I am no stranger to that guilt either, but you _must_ know you are not to blame.” Tears prick at Loki’s eyes for seeing their friend in such pain. “You need not continue if you do not wish, I am sorry for pressing the issue. If… if you _are_ comfortable, however, I would like to know what became of your apprentice. Was this… the reason you are here?”  
It is not unheard of for an apprentice to turn on their master, especially after such a tragedy, and such a prison could only be constructed by a powerful mage. Aaravos once said dragons were involved, but Loki knows there is more to that story.

Aaravos shakes his head, pressing his free hand against his eyes. “No, no, Ziard never blamed me. Perhaps he should have, but he said I had only done the same as he had. That he was no less at fault than I. No, he died many centuries before my imprisonment.”

“Then… why are you here? I have never gotten a clear answer from you, despite the fact that I now share in whatever punishment this is.”  
Loki is caught between wanting to comfort Aaravos and ask more questions. They have never received such vulnerability or transparency from the elf, and they do not plan to waste it, even as it breaks their heart.

He’s already told Loki far more than he ever intended to, but he cannot stop now. It is as if a gate has been opened, and now Aaravos cannot stop talking. “One thousand years ago, the Dragon King Sol Regem destroyed Ziard’s city, Elarion, and Ziard blinded him. Sol Regem’s successor, Queen Luna Tenebris, ordered humans to be exiled to the western half of the continent for what one of them had done to the king. There was a battle. I tried my best, but I am only one elf. I did what I could for the humans, but I could not then afford to anger the other elven leaders.”  
He laughs bitterly. “Not that it mattered, in the end.  
“It took me almost seven hundred years, but I finally took revenge. On both the queen who had intended to slaughter all the humans _for the actions of one,_ and on the elf who had killed Ziard. And for _that,_ Luna Tenebris’s successor, Avizandum, ordered me imprisoned.”

“Is that not customary in elf culture?” Loki asks. “I read about the honor code of moonshadow assassins, that they will bind themselves to avenge unjust deaths.”

Aaravos huffs, vaguely amused that he is being compared to a _Moonshadow,_ of all things. “But I am no Moonshadow assassin, I am a Startouch Archmage. And… and Queen Aditi considered Ziard’s death justified, as did Avizandum, since not only did he die in battle, he blinded the last king.”

“Because the last king _destroyed his city!_ Blinding him is _merciful_ if anything.” Loki huffs, fuming with righteous indignation. “And I thought _Asgard_ was ruthless and hypocritical.”

“You see?” Aaravos smiles at Loki’s blurry face. “Sometimes I wonder who is truly in the right. If there _is_ a right.” He blinks and rubs his hand across his face again. “What of Asgard, what did they do to you?”

“Besides what you already know? Nearly killing off my kind, destroying their homeworld, and raising me to believe that such a slaughter was justified by virtue of some sort of ‘inherent evil’?” Loki pulls their knees to their chest. “I have done terrible things, Aaravos. I came from a race of monsters, and I was raised by a different kind. I inherited both their vices and I… even if what I have done pales in comparison to their wrongdoings, it does not change what I am. It does not justify my awful mistakes.”

Aaravos’s eyes sting again, and he tentatively opens his arms, offering another hug. “I do not know what wrongs you claim to have commited, but I do know the Loki who has lived with me for four months. And the worst thing that Loki has done was to unintentionally scare me.” He hesitates, then adds softly, “I thought you were going to die.”

Loki laughs lightly, less out of humor and more out of a sort of surprise that Aaravos was so scared. The words spill out before they realize the gravity of the statement: “Such magic cannot kill me. I know, I’ve tried.”

That’s _it,_ Aaravos isn’t waiting anymore. He throws his arms around Loki, pulling them close. “Don’t _do_ that,” he mumbles. _“Don’t.”_

“So I suppose I should not tell you about all the people that promised to kill me and only let me down? Thor practically _swore_ to me that this one mission would likely be suicide, and I was only disappointed. He can’t even get me killed properly, the oaf.” Loki continues to laugh lightly, still not quite processing the care they are receiving.

A sob tears from Aaravos’s throat, and his grip on Loki tightens. “ _No,_ no, you cannot die. No. _Please.”_

_Oh,_ this is _actually_ distressing for him… Loki’s voice falters as they speak. “I… I apologize… I was only trying to lighten the mood.”

“If, if you would like to change the subject,” Aaravos offers, forcing his arms to relax, “you need only ask.”

Loki nods, leaning into the embrace. “Duly noted.”  
Loki finds it easier to ask the next question that comes to mind when they do not have to see Aaravos’s face. “Are there… in Xadia… your kind of magic… is it possible to take someone’s free will away? Are there spells that can take hold of another’s mind?”  
Depending on Aaravos’s answer, Loki may never leave this world. 

Aaravos jerks in surprise. “What? _No._ Stars above, did– did someone _truly_ do _that_ to you?” What magic could possibly do such a thing?"

Loki chokes on a sob. “Please, I am sure I am already so weak in your eyes after what has happened today.” Norns dammit, they cannot stop the tears from flowing down their cheeks again. “I know I should have fought harder, I know I-- it had been _so long._ I thought Heimdall would see me, and that someone would come for me, but then no one did, and then I realized that they may have left me to suffer, and… I was-- it _hurt._ I was so, so hungry and, and they would not let me sleep and I could not, I could not fight it anymore.”  
They feel a fresh wave of tears come over them as they recall the events of the dream, and the fact that their victory over The Other was a product of their imagination. It was cathartic, but it was not real. 

Aaravos leans back into the couch, pulling Loki with him and running one hand through their hair to hopefully soothe them. “You are _not_ weak. I remember what it was like, to go through those nightmares, see your worst fears come to life. You are _not_ not weak for what was done to you. And…” He takes a breath, and the words spill out almost of their own accord, “I truly doubt I could have done better, in your situation. I do not know much, but–”   
_“spells that can take hold of another’s mind”  
“so long”  
“they would not let me sleep”   
“they may have left me to suffer”  
“I could not fight it anymore”_  
“--but I know you were hurt, and that cannot be your fault, and you are _not_ weak for hurting, you are _not._ ”

“But I did his bidding… I was his puppet… and I-- I was aware, I _knew_ what I was doing and-- and I _delighted_ in the chaos, but it was not _me._ The feelings were there, and they were mine, but they did not come from within me. Or-- or they were twisted. Every ounce of pain was magnified, but the original rage and fury were there, those were my own weakness.” They know they are rambling, but there are no words, no syntax better suited to the pandemonium of those memories. “And if my own brother, that I fought and played with for millenia, saw who I was under a madman’s control, and thought that was who I was… what does that say of me? Perhaps I have always been predestined for chaos.”

“Perhaps–” Aaravos begins, then stops, the last syllable ringing in his ears. He takes a breath. “Odd.”  
“What is _odd?”_ the mage demands.  
 _Damnit._

_Even Aaravos agrees,_ Loki reflects solemnly. “I am sorry to burden you with this.”  
They pull away from the embrace, face burning with shame. “How much longer until your mage awakes, do you think? I had questions about that spell you performed.”

No– why is Loki pulling away? Aaravos sits up, careful not to let any sound escape as he mouths _“What is wrong?”_

Loki’s face falls even further as they do not hear Aaravos speak. They attempt to use their illusion magic to write in the air, but it sparks and fizzles before they can get it to work properly. _“It can wait until your senses return.”_  
They move to stand, wobbling slightly from the lingering damage of dark magic.

Aaravos reaches for Loki’s hand as they stand, wishing he had paper and pen.  
 _“You need to rest,”_ he mouths, attempting to mime it. He points at the couch, giving Loki a stern look. _“SLEEP.”_

Loki scowls and writes _“I just woke up! I do not need **more** sleep.”_

_“That was–”_ Aaravos looks around for a piece of paper, spotting an old notepad on the floor. A pencil is easier, he has those everywhere now. _“That was not true rest. You need **rest** to recover.”_

Loki continues to frown. Does Aaravos not believe they can be capable on their own? _“I thought you said you did not find me weak.”_ Loki strides - only stumbling once - to the door, throwing another phrase over their shoulder with golden letters, _“At least let me get a book before confining me to bed rest.”_

Aaravos stands quickly, shadowing Loki to the library. He understands the need for a book, but if the dark mage is back already– which he should not be, he should now be about to start the spell– he’ll need to get Loki out of the library immediately.  
 _“Even I needed some days of bed rest after my first time using dark magic,”_ he writes, touching Loki’s arm to ask them to look. _“Taking care of yourself is not weakness.”_

Loki feels their face flush red, and turns away as soon as they finish reading. This is… strange… to feel someone doting on them. They have not known such care since they were young and their mother still looked after them.  
It is not entirely unpleasant, but they cannot completely work out how they feel about it right now. They browse the section on the Earth arcanum, looking for the Moon book on illusion rituals that they moved to mess with Aaravos.  
 _“Do not fret so much, Aaravos. I shall leave the library before your boyfriend comes back.”_

_“I prefer to know someone’s name before I decide whether to date them,”_ Aaravos writes after a brief hesitation. _Is Loki **jealous?** Does that mean– no, they said friends. We are friends._  
He can hear the mage beginning the spell, bringing shades of the Moonshadow assassins back to wield their weapons.  
 _“You have a few minutes,”_ he adds.

Loki grabs the book they want and rolls their eyes with a wry smile as they turn to face Aaravos. _“Fine, fine. Back to my cell then, warden?”_

_“I would not imprison you further,”_ Aaravos protests before noticing Loki’s smile. _“Ah. That was a joke.”_ He can feel his ear tips heat. _“There is no rush. Yet.”_  
He hears the mage sending the shadow assassins away. It will take him a minute or two to get from whatever tower he is on– the caterpillar can hear wind– back to whatever sunless dungeon the mirror is in. He would not bet on his ability to tell when the mage is getting near, though.

Loki holds the book aloft. _“It is fine. I have the book I wanted. If even The Great Aaravos needed rest, I shall heed your expertise.”_

Aaravos offers a smile. It feels false. _“Thank you.”_ He drops the smile and looks at Loki. _“Thank you.”_

Loki thinks they hate the fake smile Aaravos offers even more than his frown. And they _definitely_ do not enjoy seeing how strained Aaravos appears. Loki nods by way of acknowledgement and goes to leave the library. 

Aaravos reaches out, stopping just short of touching Loki’s hand. _“I need to stay here… but I will come as soon as I can.”_

Loki offers Aaravos one of those fake smiles that Loki themself hates so much. _“Of course. I will be on the couch.”_

Aaravos half smiles, watching Loki leave and wishing he could go with them, just to sit with them and read.  
They’ve barely gone when he turns back to the mirror. But… something is off.  
Aaravos uses a well-practiced Star spell almost without thinking, and his eyes widen. Someone is coming, and they do not mean the mage well.  
Another quick spell tells him who it is, and he relays this information to the mage, adding, “Do as I say, and all will be well.”   
If the mage does not trust him enough, he will be captured, Aaravos’s caterpillar likely found and killed, and that will be the end of _this_ plan.

Loki makes it appear that they shut the door, but leaves it just a crack open. They shift first into a beetle, crawling in through the crack. Then, they cast an invisibility spell and shift back to their aesir form, cloaked in shadow and undetectable to the eye.  
They still could not abandon their curiosity about the mirror and Aaravos’s plans. Aaravos’s countenance changes, though not in a way that Loki might have expected. No, he seems tense: still a picture of grace, but with something unsettled simmering beneath the carefully crafted surface. Is Aaravos more comfortable with Loki? They have known the mage long enough to know his mannerisms.  
This distresses him, and Loki feels a surge of protectiveness well up within them. They want to pull Aaravos away from the human mage. How _dare_ that mortal, or any of the mortals on the other side, make Aaravos put on his mask again?

“Open the door!” Aaravos hears. It’s not the mage, but someone else.   
“Who _are_ these people?” he asks.  
“The Crownguard,” the mage answers, tense.  
“We’ll break it down if we have to!” the other person shouts.  
Aaravos closes his eyes, laughing a little at the mage’s nervous inhale. Oh, this is going to be a fun exercise. Something to get out some of the pent-up fear from when Loki would not waken. “Well?”  
He opens his eyes, and everything looks different. The world glows, and power surges through his veins. This _will_ be fun!  
 _"Open it for them!"_  
The first thing he tries is _Fulminis,_ drawing the rune nearly as tall as himself and channeling his magic through the mage. He smiles in satisfaction when he hears lightning crackle around the room, and hears the guards thrown back from the force of his magic.

Loki watches with wide eyes as Aaravos grins, then opens his eyes to reveal twin colorful lights. His hands and feet glow blue, and even his hair seems to shine as it dances in the winds centered around Aaravos.  
It is perhaps even more beautiful than the first time Loki saw it months ago. Loki cannot keep the smile off their face watching Aaravos in his element, as he is drawing runes with almost impossible speed and sending them to some unknown place. _Show them you are a force to be reckoned with,_ Loki silently cheers.

Only two spells later, it is clear he cannot win this fight. Not from his prison. Not like this.  
“Stop. It’s over,” he tells the mage, releasing his grip on his power.  
“No!” the mage protests. “I can win this!”  
 _Not without my power, which I cannot properly use if I cannot even see my opponent._  
“STOP.”  
Finally, the mage gives in, and Aaravos hears metal clinking. Considering the circumstances, he thinks he knows what it is.  
“I will stay with you,” he tells the mage, instructing his caterpillar to hide– curse it, there are not many places it _can_ hide, the mage’s hair is so _short_. Aaravos grimaces and tries not to think about where his voice is hiding.

Loki blinks in surprise as Aaravos returns to his normal self so quickly. At first, they thought it meant a short crisis, easily dealt with, but his face is stoic, almost disappointed. They recognize the word “stop” on his lips, spoken with force.  
Loki shifts again and scurries away before they can be discovered. 

Aaravos takes the time while the mage is, presumably, being taken to a cell to do a breathing exercise. This is only a small setback, nothing more. But it has impressed upon him the need for something a little _more,_ if he truly wants to escape.  
But he knows what the next step is, and he _dreads_ it.  
This time, he needs to tell Loki _before_ he does the spell. He has to. _Last_ time he neglected to tell Loki, they attempted dark magic and _could_ have–  
\--but is he sure he _wants_ to take the next step? Of course he will have to eventually, to complete the spell, but does he have to _now_? When Loki is still recovering? Maybe he could wait just a day or two. Not too long; if the mage is imprisoned he won’t be able to come to the mirror, and Aaravos needs to be able to see and be seen. But… not _yet._

Loki wraps the blanket around their shoulders, settling in with the book they took from the library. Ever since reading about all six primal sources, they felt most drawn to the Moon arcanum. It has a particular draw with how similar it is to their own favored forms of magic.  
As they read about one of the rituals, performed at the Moon Henge to connect to another world between life and death, they reflect on their visions from their failed attempt at dark magic. The things they saw were illusions, but they were not without truth. They revealed Loki’s fears, manifested before them, and their triumph over their own fears was no illusion, despite the fact that it only occurred within their own mind.  
They have always seen their illusions and magic as ways to hide the truth, all flash and misdirection, but that is only half the story, they realize. Just as they change form, change gender, they are still the same Loki, though they appear differently. Perhaps the Moon functions the same way: changing in phases, but still the same satellite around the world. 

Whether he waits to do the spell or not, Aaravos knows he needs to tell Loki about it. And he should do that sooner, rather than later. He does not need Loki angry at him again, and trying dark magic again.  
 _That is silly. Loki will most likely not attempt dark magic again, not after the nightmares._ But they still might do something foolish out of anger.  
Trying to ignore the way his stomach twists, he heads back to the sitting room.

Loki is not ready to attempt anything so grand as the rituals in the book, but if they remember correctly, there is a smaller spell they could attempt.  
Hand trembling in excitement, Loki breaths deep and traces the rune in the air. They smile as they see the glowing script appear. “Historia viventum.”  
The rune dissipates, replaced with a ghostly figure of Aaravos pacing the room. Loki had not focused on a specific time, too excited to try out their new ability. They are not sure when this was.  
The spectre of Aaravos trembles as he paces, reaching up to pull at his hair. Loki frowns, sensing his distress growing. Then, whatever was keeping the elf composed shatters, and he breaks down. Loki can hear nothing, only see, but it is clear that Aaravos is screaming. He flips the table, the couch, then sends some sort of spell at the walls. The shelves shake, the contents knock over and shatter on the floor. Aaravos approaches the window, beating upon it with his fists and sending spell after spell on it, everything he can give ricocheting to cause more damage to everything else. The window remains without a single scratch.  
The vision of Aaravos seems to lose his strength and crumbles, sobbing into his hands. Loki, finally unfrozen from their shock, figures out how to banish the vision.  
They still do not know when that was, but it was clearly sometime in the centuries before Loki’s arrival. Really, they would have been more surprised if Aaravos had _not_ had such a breakdown at some point. Isolation is a surefire way to destroy a person’s spirit and drive them to insanity.  
Loki is going to _kill_ Avizandum. No, first, they are going to rip off the dragon’s wings and claws, and _then_ kill the cruel beast.

Aaravos enters the room to see Loki sitting up with a book, glaring murderously at the wall.  
He coughs, testing out his voice. It is not working on this side of the mirror, so he finds his notepad and pencil and writes, _“And what did my wall do to you to make you so angry?”_  
He is not sure whether to be amused or nervous.

Loki does not think; they leap up to hug Aaravos. They hold him tight for a moment before pulling away to respond with a serious look. _“First, I have decided that I am going to kill Avizandum in the most painful way I can find. Second… perhaps I should show you.”_  
They take another step back to draw the rune, this time being sure to focus on a specific moment in time. “Historia Viventum.”  
This time, instead of the lone figure of Aaravos, a ghostly image of Loki is alongside him. The two of them share the couch, Aaravos reclined and casually telling some story that they cannot hear now, but Loki remembers it all the same. It is strange to look at themself from the outside, eyes glued on Aaravos with wonder as he recounts an old Startouch ritual that involved a beautiful mix of dance and magic.  
The current Loki looks to their current Aaravos expectantly, nearly bursting with glee at their demonstration of a new skill.

Aaravos’s eyes are fixed on the ghostly Loki and Aaravos on the couch, mouth slightly opened in surprise.  
He turns to Loki and, forgetting that he cannot speak to them, begins “You’ve–” He shuts his mouth quickly.  
“I’ve what?” the human mage asks.  
“You should sleep,” Aaravos says smoothly. “You’ll need it soon.”  
Remembering where his pencil is (in his hand), he writes, _“Did– **How** did you do this? Did you find a moon opal, or–”_ In _theory,_ Loki might be able to connect to an arcanum they were not born to; Aaravos himself did it five times, but so soon after using dark magic? And Loki is not of Xadia, would that give them a smaller or larger chance of connection like this?  
Hardly believing his own words, he asks, _“Did you… did you truly connect to the Moon?”_

_“How do you **think** I did this?”_ Loki writes, _“Yes, I connected to the Moon. I think I have always been nearly connected, but I needed that last element of clarity. The content of those nightmares provided it.”_  
Loki takes no small amount of gratification in Aaravos’s expression of amazement. They preen a little at having surprised him.

Aaravos chokes back his delighted laugh, taking Loki’s hands and spinning them around. He has to stop to write, _“That is wonderful news indeed! Oh, when I have my voice again I will start teaching you right away!”_

Loki nods, grinning from ear to ear. _“Only if you allow me to teach you my Asgardian seidr. If nothing else, you should understand the theory when we take a trip to my universe, though I believe you can learn it.”_  
They would have loved to introduce Aaravos to Frigga, though just the mental image of bringing a _second_ chaos-loving mage to Asgard makes them smile. The Allfather’s head would surely explode.

_“I would never turn down the chance to learn a new magic,”_ Aaravos writes.  
He _likes_ Loki’s smile, and he is surprised at just how much he likes it. He cannot help his own smile, nor does he want to.  
And then he recalls the other thing Loki said when he came in, and it turns out his smile can grow bigger. _“Not that I am complaining, of course, but why do you wish to kill Avizandum? He has done nothing to you.”_

Loki scowls at the mention of that name. _“Not directly, no, but he has hurt you, and that is as good as a crime against me in my book.”_

Aaravos turns away as his eyes fill. That… why does that sound so sweet? Once he… well. No. He would always have thought something like that was ro– kind. But why does hearing, or, well, seeing the words from Loki hit so hard?  
He scribbles, _“Thank you,”_ tears the paper out, and passes it to Loki.  
A thought occurs to him, and he adds, _“But Avizandum is likely already dead, considering that a human is in possession of my mirror. The Dragon King would not have given me up easily, especially not to a dark mage.”_ He tears this page out as well, passing it to Loki before blinking several times and turning back around.

Loki is not sure why they are disappointed to read that. It makes sense, and they should be happy that Aaravos’s tormentor is likely dead now, regardless of who dealt the killing blow… but they wanted to do this for Aaravos. There is not much they can do trapped with him, but they feel a need to repay him.  
Repay him for caring for them? For sharing his home/prison? No… not that, and Aaravos did not really have much say in the latter. Loki is not sure what other word there is for this, they just have to repay Aaravos for _something,_ because they can only deduce that Aaravos has given them something good, even if they cannot express what that thing is.  
 _“That is good, I suppose… provided he is dead,”_ Loki writes back. _“If somehow, he survived, you can be sure that I shall rectify that.”_

Aaravos smiles at Loki. _“Thank–”_ His throat feels funny.  
“Hello,” he tries, grinning when he hears his own voice, on this side of the mirror and not ringing in his ears.   
He turns the grin on Loki. “Thank you. That is…” He is not sure of the right words to express his gratitude, so he settles on “most kind of you.”  
Not many are willing to kill for him, certainly not as many as he would have killed for.

Loki chuckles, partly out of the sheer joy at hearing Aaravos’s voice return, and partly at the specific words Aaravos says. “I am not sure ‘kind’ is the proper word for it, considering I am promising a murder.”  
They arch an eyebrow as they remind Aaravos, “Now, I believe you promised a magic lesson once your voice returned?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to Kagome89 on predicting that Loki would connect to an arcanum! This was planned early on that the moon would likely be the first one Loki would connect to, given his proficiency with illusions.  
> If you'd like to see more, you can follow Magi's Aaravos blog on tumblr: @aaravosanswers, or my Loki blog: @loki-of-asgard-god-of-mischief. We have some really fun interactions on there! Plus, you should check out Magi's blog (same username) because she posts amazing art for this story there!  
> Also, now that the self-promo bit is done, any predictions for next week?


	8. Trust Is Like Rome: Not Built In A Day, But Burned In One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaravos tries to tell Loki about the next phase of his plan. But old memories, brought back by Loki's new magic, hinder him for a time. Loki, for his part, is _not_ happy about this new development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGSTY CHAPTER AHEAD. Turns out both of them have some abandonment/betrayal issues. Sorry not sorry.  
> ~Magi

The magic lesson goes fairly well, as first lessons go. Aaravos focuses mainly on theory, on the words and specific inflections in Ancient Draconic that work best with Moon magic. Loki learns the meanings of several of the more common words in moon spells, such as _alucinati, deceptio, anima, lumen, mors,_ and _nox_ , as well as the best ways to alter them for a specific purpose. Loki is, as one might expect from someone educated as a prince, a quick study. 

“Loki,” Aaravos starts, remembering that he really does need to tell Loki about the next part of the spell.  
“Aaravos?” the dark mage calls out, voice thick. Aaravos rolls his eyes. Of _course_. Just his luck, this _would_ happen right as he’s trying to _not_ hurt Loki again.  
“Yes?” he responds, holding back his irritation.  
“What is your _plan_?”  
Aaravos’s _plan_ is to use the mage to escape, then free Loki. But the mage most likely means a plan for getting himself out of his own prison.  
“What is your name?” Aaravos returns, half his attention on writing out an apology to Loki.  
“...Lord Viren,” the mage says.

Loki looks up at the sound of their name, only to see Aaravos’s lips moving without any sound coming out. He is gone again. Loki tries to ignore the plummeting of their heart, barely soothed by the apology Aaravos offers.  
“ _I will take this opportunity to sleep, then_ ,” Loki responds by writing. “ _When I wake, I shall take care of meal preparation. You need to focus on getting that mage to free us._ ”

Aaravos gives Loki the softest smile he can manage while saying “Well, Lord Viren, the first step of the plan is for you to behave. Let them think you harmless, nothing more than an old magician. As far as they are concerned, the power you displayed at your arrest was a fluke.”  
“I am– I was– the _High Mage_ ,” Viren snaps.  
Every time Aaravos is surprised, he likes it less.  
(Except for the occasional good surprise, like Loki’s connection to the moon, but that sort of surprise is far, far rarer than the other sort.)  
“I will need a few hours to think.”  
“ _Thank you. Sleep well, and sweet dreams_.”  
“You’ve had hours already!”  
“Did you think I did not also need to sleep?”

Loki hates to leave Aaravos, seeing him furrow his brow while speaking without sound, but they need their rest if they are to be of any value to their escape.  
They go to the bedroom as the bed is much more comfortable than the converted couch. Despite this, they toss and turn for a while before they begin to get any indication they can fall asleep. As they drift off, they remember the night they shared the bed, the comforting weight of Aaravos’s presence beside them. They had not known what a blessing it was at the time to have Aaravos holding their arm.  
They cannot let go of the lingering dread that they will be alone again, even as they sleep. It seeps into their dreams, and leaves them with fitful sleep.

“Do your best to convince your guards that power was a fluke,” Aaravos instructs. “I do not care if you must tell them outright that you overexerted yourself and are magically burned out for a week, or if you simply tell them that, since you are a dark mage, you cannot do anything without access to your ingredients and your staff. But you must convince them you are powerless, or you will be.”  
“Is that a threat?”  
“It is a statement of fact.” It is also a threat. “I will inform you when it is time to move to the next stage of the plan.”  
He needs to silence the mage so he can write properly, even if he cannot speak, to tell Loki of his plan.  
When the mage is _finally_ quiet, he looks for Loki first on the couch, then in the bedroom. If they are still awake, he can still tell them.  
But they are asleep.

When Loki wakes, he has a sinking feeling in his chest. He cannot remember his dreams, but they were not pleasant, likely a remnant from attempting dark magic.  
He levitates a book on moon spells as he works on his breakfast and Aaravos’s supper, occupying his mind as his hands are at work. He puts together a hearty stew, more of a comfort food, and ladles out one bowl for himself and one for Aaravos.  
He finds Aaravos in the library, reading, and taps his shoulder to pass the bowl to him. “ _I will be in the sitting room if you need me_ ,” he writes in the air.

Aaravos looks up from _A Compendium of Magical Plants, Vol II_. “ _Thank you_ ,” he writes on the notepad he now keeps with him at all times, accepting the stew. It smells delicious; Loki turned out to be a much better cook than he would have expected.  
_Tell him about the next step._  
_No! It is not a good time. He just woke up. He is feeding you, and you want to tell him you are about to leave him even more?_  
_But I cannot betray him again!_  
_I just need to figure out how to word it. That is all._  
Aaravos gives Loki a warm smile, and turns back to his book, staring at the pages yet not taking in any of the words. Not that he needs to; he has this one all but memorized.  
‘ _I am going to need to cast another spell…_ ’ no, that will not do, it is not another spell, merely a continuation of the first… 

Loki smiles back at Aaravos, patting his shoulder affectionately before leaving Aaravos to his tasks. Loki would like to be prepared for the next time Aaravos has his voice again, eager for the next lesson on the moon arcanum. He grabs a couple more books on his way out of the library.  
He sits cross-legged on the floor of the sitting room, with five books open in a semicircle around him. He flips between the pages of each one, hopping from one book to another to connect one bit of information with the interpretations from another writer. He takes another sheet of paper and draws runes until he is sure he has them memorized and could draw them with his eyes closed. Every new spell, every word and rune and piece of history Loki learns, he feels ever more assured that this is where he is meant to be.  
To connect with the moon in these simple ways feels like coming home, and Loki has not had the pleasure of such an experience or sensation in far too long. He hopes he can meet the other Moonshadow elves soon, as already he considers them a spiritual kin.

‘ _The spell I used requires me to also lose my sight– again, temporarily, but it must be done to secure our escape.’_ No, that sounds too… brusque. Too uncaring.  
‘ _I do not wish to leave–_ ’ no, he can’t use that one, he _does_ wish to leave the prison, he simply does not wish to leave without Loki, and he _can’t_ say ‘I do not wish to leave without you’; that would make it sound as if he is planning to escape and leave Loki imprisoned.  
‘ _I am deeply sorry_ –’ Stars above Xadia, why is he so bad at this!?  
Perhaps it would be best to just get it over with? Go to Loki and say something without planning? He overthought telling Loki of the first part of the spell, and that resulted in not telling Loki until it was too late, which resulted in Loki attempting dark magic–  
\--Aaravos does try to learn from his mistakes.  
He takes a deep breath, setting his book aside. Part of him wants to continue delaying, to wait for his voice to return, wait until he knows what he will say. But if he does not tell Loki _now_ , perfect time or not, he is beginning to fear he never will.

Loki traces his fingers along the illustration of Moonshadow elves participating in a monthly ritual. If he and Aaravos ever do escape this place and go to Xadia, it might be best if he blends in with the locals. Better an elf than being mistaken for a human.  
It is difficult to shift into a form he has not seen in person, but then again, it seems that the Moonshadow elves are not so different from Startouch, and he has seen Aaravos. Still, perhaps he should start small, with an illusion rather than a full shift.  
First, the hair. He shifts it to be shorter and silver-white. He casts an illusion for the horns, deep purple with teal braces. His ears grow pointed, while he uses an illusion for the face paint and clothing. He chooses mage robes, like Aaravos, but tailored like the moon mages he sees in the book. He conjures a mirror, and enacts a few small changes to the structure of his face, just to complete the change. The nose is always the hardest, but surprisingly important when determining an overall look.  
Ah, he almost forgot the eyes. A simple shift changes them to a greyish violet. Loki smiles with pride at the accomplishment. He barely looks anything like his aesir form; he shall have to remember this in case he would like to shift again.

Aaravos concentrates on breathing deeply as he makes his way to the sitting room, running through what he needs mentally.  
_Notepad? Yes, here in my hand._  
_Pencil? Yes, there it is, behind my ear._  
_What do I need to tell Loki? That I need to do another part of the spell very soon, and this will take my sight to the other side of the mirror as well._  
_Breath? In, out, in, out._  
_Hands?_ He notices his hands are sweating, and wipes them on his robes, placing them behind his back just to have something to do with them.  
_Eyes? Hm? What?_  
Aaravos presses one thumb into his right eyelid until it stops twitching. _Damn_ that nervous tic.  
He pauses for a moment at the door frame, takes several deep breaths, pulls a smile onto his face, and steps into the room.  
A beautiful, and hauntingly familiar, face looks back at him.  
The blood runs from Aaravos’s face. No. _No_. How could _he_ be here? He– he should be _dead_ by now, he should not be here what is going _on_ –  
He spins and runs from the room, runs until his mind catches up with him and reminds him that _Loki is a shapeshifter_ –  
\--but that does not explain how Loki found _that particular shape_.  
He puts his back to the wall and slides down to the floor, breathing shakily.

Loki turns with a smile at the sound of the door. Perfect timing! Aaravos must miss the sight of another elf, and--  
Aaravos stares at Loki with wide, almost fearful eyes, then turns and runs from the room.  
_It is not perfect, by any means, but it cannot be_ that _bad_.  
Loki takes a moment to dispel the illusions and shift back to aesir before running after Aaravos. He finds the elf sitting on the floor, leaning on the wall just outside the room. Loki holds out his hands hesitantly as he crouches down to Aaravos’s level. Aaravos’s breathing comes in short inhales and shaky exhales. “ _I do not know what happened, but I am here, Aaravos. You are safe_ ,” he writes, still holding out the other hand for Aaravos to take if he is so inclined.

Aaravos looks up, eyes flashing in a brief moment of anger– _you betrayed me!_ \-- before he remembers this is _Loki_ not _Fial_ , and _Loki_ has not hurt him.  
Slowly, he reaches for Loki with one hand, fumbling for his notepad with the other. The notepad is gone, though, as is his pencil, and so he cannot explain. Instead, he only looks at Loki and mouths, ‘ _I’m sorry_.’ 

Loki sees as Aaravos looks for the notepad and realizes he must have dropped it in his shock. He still does not know why Aaravos was so shocked to see him, but that is unimportant for now. First, he needs to make sure Aaravos can express himself should he wish to.  
Since Loki does not wish to let go of Aaravos’s hand, he uses his telekinetic powers to bring the notepad and pencil to them. They float to Aaravos, bobbing almost cheerfully in midair as Loki waits for Aaravos to take them, perhaps in an attempt to make him smile.

Aaravos’s hands shake as he takes the notepad and pencil from the air, nodding to Loki in thanks. He flips the notepad open and begins to write, looking up at Loki almost every letter.  
Every time he looks up, he still sees Loki. Only Loki.  
His letters are shaky and wobble all across the page, like a child’s handwriting, but he eventually manages to write, “ _I apologize. I did not mean– to startle you. I, I… old memories, now. They should not still affect me._ ”

Loki smiles sadly, reaching up to brush a few errant hairs out of Aaravos’s face. “ _You need not apologize. Not ever, not for that. Memories can be a potent poison. If anyone should be sorry, it is I, even if I do not understand what went wrong. Clearly I brought something painful to the surface._ ”

Aaravos sucks in his breath, pulling back slightly when Loki touches his face. His ears heat in embarrassment, because _I should be able to control myself better than that!_  
“ _It was a long time ago. I…_ ”  
But he can trust Loki, can he not? He has already told Loki of so much, so many _personal_ things. Ziard. Cassandra. The dragons. He can trust Loki with this as well.  
_But_ … For a moment, he sees Fial again, standing among _Aaravos’s_ books in _Aaravos’s_ sitting room, in the prison where he _should not be_.  
_That was_ not _Fial, that was_ **Loki**.  
“ _You reminded me of someone, that is all_.”  
He only wants to forget Fial again. He nearly did, in the last centuries. He thought he _had_ forgotten him.

Clearly Aaravos does not want to talk about this, and as much as the curiosity burns, Loki can try to respect that. “ _I understand. We need not dwell on unpleasant things any longer._ ” Loki stands, offering Aaravos a hand up. “ _The floor is so uncomfortable, and not a worthy place for an Archmage to rest._ ”

Aaravos hesitates a second, staring at Loki’s hand without seeing it before taking it and allowing Loki to help him up.  
_Loki– Fial– LOKI._  
He half wants to tell Loki everything, tell him what happened. But he cannot.  
The last person he showed such vulnerability to _betrayed_ him.

Loki is not sure how to help Aaravos now. Aaravos has helped him _so much_ and now that he seems to be struggling with a painful past of his own, Loki does not know what to do. It is absolutely infuriating.  
Perhaps a distraction. Loki can show Aaravos what he has learned. Pulling Aaravos by the hand, he leads Aaravos to sit in one of the chairs. He bends over to his notebook, glancing at the runes to make sure he remembers them correctly.  
He draws the rune in the air, concentrating on the image. “ _Partum papiliones_ ,” and from the rune erupt a hundred tiny fluttering butterflies made of silvery light. They do not stay for long, dissipating into sparkles as soon as they touch any surface, but they make for a magical sight for a few minutes. 

Aaravos smiles happily at the butterflies, and at Loki’s progress in moon magic– then his smile falls.  
_Fial, conjuring thousands of sparkling butterflies for Aaravos’s birthday, butterflies they danced through for half an hour until Fial’s skin sparkled as bright as Aaravos’s–_  
Aaravos realizes his eyes are stinging, and swallows hard. _Loki, not Fial. Loki. Think of Loki._  
“ _Good job,_ ” he manages to write.

 _So… that did not work._ Aaravos seemed happy for a fleeting second, but it is clear that whatever bothers him is not something he can be easily distracted from. Loki sits in front of Aaravos on the floor, looking up at him, pleading with his eyes for Aaravos to let Loki help him the way he helped Loki. “ _What can I do? What do you need?_ ”  
_I would kill for you. I would sit with you in your pain if that is what you needed. You would do the same, I know you would, just let me._

Aaravos looks from Loki to the words, and back. Eyes still on Loki’s, he starts writing.  
“ _I… I need to tell you something. The spell. My plan._ ” He hesitates, searching for words.

This is not where Loki was expecting their conversation to go, but it is clear that it weighs on Aaravos, and Loki is grateful to be getting some answers about Aaravos’s plans. “ _Okay, I am listening. What is it I need to know?_ ”  
He is sure that he can handle whatever Aaravos needs him to do. Perhaps now, Aaravos no longer underestimates him, and Loki can help.

“ _I need to do the next part of the spell soon_ ,” Aaravos writes, “ _within the next day or two. And…_ ” Oh, this is the hard part. “ _And it will take my sight to the other side of the mirror as well,_ ” he scribbles, hoping beyond hope that Loki will only glance over the words and not truly read them.

...wait… what? Loki reads over the words again. “ _I do not understand… You have already established communication with the dark mage, why do you need to send your sight over as well?_ ” He does not like the sound of this, Aaravos is tearing his senses apart all in the pursuit of freedom. What if he cannot get them back? 

Aaravos closes his eyes for a moment, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. “ _The mage can no longer access the mirror, but I still need to be able to see him, to ensure he carries out my plan. I… do you not see? This is the only path to freedom, the only thing I have tried that did not immediately fail. I_ must _do this_.”

Loki frowns. Clearly he misunderstood what the plan was. “ _I thought you need only convince the mage to help us. Now, there is another plan to contend with? Do you not think this is too much risk? Too much to be placing on a human? What does this involve on the other side?_ ”

Aaravos looks sharply away. “ _Convincing the mage to help was but the first step. The end goal is_ freedom, _and no price is too high for that. The mage will do whatever I ask until we are both freed. I am sure of that._ ”

Whatever Aaravos asks? Loki is sure that Aaravos can be quite convincing, but this suggests a level of devotion that Loki is… uncomfortable with. Three possibilities run through Loki’s mind, none of them desirable.  
1\. Aaravos used some sort of spell on the human to manipulate him. This is unlikely, since Aaravos assured Loki just the other day that there were no such spells.  
2\. Aaravos is in some sort of intimate relationship with the mage, and these promises are of a loving sort… Loki does not wish to think about that.  
3\. It is not freeing Aaravos that the human is so eager to do, but whatever Aaravos has promised in exchange for freedom, something very valuable. Loki worries this cost may be too high.  
“ _I cannot say I like the sound of that… what have you promised him in exchange for freedom?_ ”

“ _As of yet? Power. He wishes the other human leaders to hear him. He wishes to rule._ ”  
And Aaravos has dealt with many humans, and elves for that matter, with this same desire over the millennia. He can handle one more.

Loki likes the sound of that even less. What happens if Aaravos creates a monster he cannot then rein in later? Loki knows the danger of a man that craves power above all else. He chooses instead to ask a different question, knowing better than to cast moral doubt onto the person that will supposedly give them freedom.  
“ _And how will this mage free us? If he has not already, then is he capable?_ ”

“ _Not yet,_ ” Aaravos responds. Knowing this will not be enough for Loki, he adds, “ _The key is my caterpillar. It will take me to the other side, then from there, I will break the spell on the mirror and– what is wrong?_ ”

Loki can feel the blood drain from his face, a sinking feeling in his chest. He blinks slowly, processing what he just read. Oh, as if the loss of Aaravos’s senses and attention were not enough, now _this_.  
“ _It will take_ you _to the other side? And not me? You would leave me here?_ ”

Aaravos stills. “ _No. No, I would not leave you. I would remain near the mirror until I could break the spell on it. I would, I…_ ”  
There is a difference!  
Unbidden, an image of Fial’s face comes to him. “ _I did what I had to, Aaravos. I did not betray you, I only remained loyal to Xadia first._ ”  
_No._ This is _not_ the same!

“ _And what if you cannot break the spell? You have your freedom, and you would leave me to rot until you finally get around to coming back to me? What if you cannot get to the mirror? WHAT IF SO MANY THINGS AARAVOS._ ”  
Loki stands, backing away from Aaravos with tears in his eyes. Just like Odin, throwing him to the side until he could be used on Jotunheim. Just like Thor, never coming to see Loki in prison for over a year until he needed something. It is happening all over again and Loki is a fool for thinking it would be different this time. “ _All this time I thought we were in this_ together. _But… I am just an afterthought to you. I cannot believe I thought you were different._ ”

Aaravos shakes his head helplessly, knuckles whitening on the arms of his chair before he forces his fingers apart to take the pencil up. “ _I am an Archmage! There is nothing I cannot do! I_ will _break the spell, Loki, I swear on the stars you’ll be free! We are in this together, I swear! We will both be freed!_ ”

“ _You do not know that, Aaravos, yet you would leave me behind on a_ chance.” Loki conjures the metal rod from Nilfgaard. “ _You are right, though, we will both be free. Do you know what this is? Have you even bothered to pay attention to what I have been doing?_ ”

“ _Metal…?_ ” Aaravos asks uncertainly. It _looks_ like metal, but the way Loki said it he knows it is not simply metal.

“ _It is a rare metal alloy called adaranium from a planet called Nilfgaard. I was experimenting with it one day and I realized that it amplifies with my magic in such a way that I can cut through the barriers of this dimension and be free. However, it is only enough to take one person through, there is not enough of it to get the effect we need to take both of us, so I have been looking_ everywhere _for a metal that has the same properties._ ” Loki can feel the tears running down his cheeks, and he does not care enough to wipe them away. “ _I could not leave you. I wanted to find a way to get_ both _of us out._ ”

Aaravos feels so _strange_. Loki stayed _for him_. Loki waited _for him_. Loki did not want to leave _him_.  
And… Loki believes Aaravos is planning on leaving him.  
...and Loki is crying.  
“ _We will both get out!_ ” Aaravos writes before standing. He reaches toward Loki. “ _Please–_ ”

Loki recoils from Aaravos’s touch. _Now_ he is scared, because now Loki holds the cards. Loki could leave any time he wants, but Aaravos has to wait. “ _You are right that we will both get out. You have your way, and I have mine. Whatever partnership we had is useless now._ ”

Aaravos drops his arm, looking down. He hates this, hates seeing Loki hurting.  
A small, selfish part of him wants Loki to stay, but that– there is no reason for this. Practicality would dictate that he tell Loki to leave, then Aaravos needn’t free him and it is less bother for them both. But he does not _want_ this, he wants Loki to stay with him.  
Before he can regret it, he writes, “ _THEN GO!!_ ” stabbing the pencil so viciously into the paper that the paper tears and the pencil point snaps off. He spins angrily, hating the tears forming in his eyes.

This is what he expected, right? This is what he was guarding his heart against all along. So… why does this hurt so much? He thought… he supposes it does not matter what he thought.  
Aaravos has his back to him, so Loki directs the floating letters to appear in front of Aaravos. “ _Goodbye, Aaravos, and good luck_.”  
He channels his magic through the adaranium, feeling it spark in his hands, enough energy to carry him home. Without another word, he vanishes.  
When he opens his eyes, he is standing on a grassy hill, with bright blue skies above and fluffy cumulus clouds. A breeze ruffles his hair, and his first thought is that it feels so good to get fresh air. Aaravos would love this.  
It will be hard to forget him, but Loki _has_ to forget him. Even if he _could_ track down such a small dimension, if he were to go back, he may never get out a second time. The adaranium in his hands is charred and useless. Scowling at the useless hunk of half-melted metal as if it personally offended him, he chucks it as far as his strength can manage.  
Loki’s knees crumble under him, and he sobs into his hands. He can feel the familiar energies of this world, he is back in his universe. At the moment, he could not care less what planet he is on. So long as its inhabitants stay away from him so he can mourn the friendship he never really had.

Aaravos sees the glowing letters appear, but they are too blurry to read.  
He does not need to read them. Loki is leaving.  
The letters vanish, and Loki is gone.  
Aaravos collapses, no longer bothering to hide his tears. _Loki is gone. Loki is gone, forever._


	9. In Which There is Still Only One Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Loki and Aaravos are separated not only by the maze that is the multiverse but also their own anger and frustration, each of them must try to get on with their individual lives.  
> But how can they, when they are each missing their dearest friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, now that they are both completely broken, time to fix it!

After a solid hour or two of tears and maybe some screaming into the dirt, Loki takes a walk to see what planet he landed on. When he comes across the nearest city, he recognizes it: Nilfgaard.  
Fate is cruel at times.  
He should move on. Aaravos already has a way out of the mirror. He does not need Loki, and Loki does not need him.  
But… it could not hurt... to have more of that alloy on hand.

Aaravos’s body shakes with the effort of stopping his tears before they turn audible and the mage notices. Still, he cannot do anything but lie on the floor and wait for sleep.  
It comes slowly, and his sleep is fitful, haunted by Fial and Loki, sometimes separate, sometimes the same, always leaving him alone. Once, Viren, crushing the caterpillar and leaving Aaravos screaming voicelessly into emptiness.  
He can feel the dried salt on his cheeks when he wakes, alone again.  
_It is better this way. No one left means no one to betray me. Fial is long dead, Loki I will never see again, and Viren is easy to manipulate. I will not be betrayed again. It is better now._  
The one person Aaravos still lies to is himself.

Given how difficult it is to make, and how valuable it is, the adaranium will be under lock and key, and Loki is not particularly well-liked on Nilfgaard. He shifts into an unassuming form, summoning a cloak and some coin from his pocket dimension. He can slip in, buy some adaranium, and slip out no problem. Then he can get on with his life, chaotic as it is. 

With Loki gone, there is nothing stopping him from the next part of the spell. Aaravos tests his voice. It is gone, so Viren is awake. And Aaravos senses something– a distraction.  
“Get up,” he orders the mage. “You have visitors.” He casts his consciousness out from the caterpillar, calling a nearby butterfly to Viren. He knows what happens after using dark magic. The mage will need it.  
He watches, convincing himself he is interested, as the mage’s children confront him about some mission he sent them on. From this, Aaravos learns that the mage instructed his son to kill the princes of Katolis, that the son failed or perhaps refused to do so, and feels guilty about both the attempt and disobeying his father, and that the daughter refuses to believe such a thing of her father. She is overly loyal, Aaravos notes, willing to believe anything of anyone so long as it means she does not need to question her loyalties.  
“Careful,” Aaravos warns. “If you tell the truth, you will lose her.” The girl’s desperation to prove that her brother misheard means that for all she wishes to remain loyal to her father, she has morals that are likely more important. Should she be forced to choose between loyalty and morality, Aaravos thinks she will choose morality.  
He can change that, but not in an instant.

“Where have you been? Haven’t you heard the new laws?” the merchant asks.  
“I have been… out of touch for a while. Care to explain?” Loki replies.  
“Adaranium is a powerful material, and now regulated by the crown. Only authorized personnel from verified guilds and companies can purchase it.”  
Loki paints a smile on his face and nods. “Of course, I am terribly sorry to bother you. Thank you for answering my questions.”  
He exits the shop to do reconnaissance. Once he gets a look at whatever documents he needs, even a glance, they should be easy to replicate with his magic. Then again, he could always just steal it… no, he will try to go about this on the slightly more legitimate side… for now.

After the mage’s children leave, Aaravos begins questioning Viren. Little by little, he pulls information from the mage– his thoughts on his children; his relationships with the king, princes, and dead queen; other influential people in Katolis; what the other rulers are like.  
The last thing Aaravos wants right now is for the mage to fall asleep and leave Aaravos with the awful silence of Loki’s absence. So he continues saying just enough to keep the mage talking, filing each new bit of information away to use later.  
He interrupts only once, to say, “Tell me when it is dark.”  
“Why?” Viren asks.  
“Because I wish to know when it is dark.”  
_“Why?”_  
“Do you truly wish to know the answer to that?” Aaravos asks, injecting humor into his voice. “I doubt it.”  
The mage does not ask again after that. Does not mention it again until some time later, when he says, “It’s dark now. Why do you need to know?”  
Instead of answering, Aaravos instructs the mage to lie down and keep his eyes open, then sends the caterpillar towards his face.

It is not difficult to move unseen through the crowds, even without using any sort of invisibility magic. He finds the ones that seem most influential, and orchestrates various ways in which to check through their belongings and papers. He does not even need his magic, and it makes for a fun challenge.  
In fact, just _talking_ and interacting with other people is a joy.  
Finally, he comes across the documents he needs to buy adaranium. He waves down the woman he swiped them from. “Excuse me, I believe you dropped these,” he says with a charming smile. She thanks him profusely, thinking him honest for returning them to her.

Predictably, the mage squeezes his eyes shut when the caterpillar gets near. Aaravos sighs impatiently, and the caterpillar pries the mage’s eyelids apart.  
“What are you doing?” the mage squeaks.  
“Preparing you for greatness,” Aaravos says. “Hold still.”  
As he concentrates, the caterpillar begins to spin a web crossing over Viren’s eye, from one lid to the other multiple times until it is complete. The caterpillar then seals Viren’s eyelids shut with another strand of web. He leaves the web on as he casts spells through his connection to Viren, directly on the web. Only a half dozen spells, then he is done.  
As his vision fades, he instructs the caterpillar to remove the strand of web. The insect is still on Viren’s face as he opens his eyes.  
Aaravos smiles, looking at Viren and the caterpillar before stepping through the bars of the mage’s cell. “Now, you can see me,” he explains, bowing. “And I can better serve you.”  
Viren smiles.

Loki concentrates, trying to conjure up a document just like the one he saw. He got a good enough look that he has it memorized. However, as he tries to summon his magic, there is something… _off_ about it. He hopes that this is just an adjustment to being back in his home universe.  
He is hesitant to push through whatever block this is, knowing what happened the last couple of times he pushed through. Instead, he tries a different method. He grabs a piece of paper and tries to place an illusion over it. This time, instead of a block, he realizes that something is _pulling_ against him.  
He wonders, is it really worth the trouble to get the adaranium? Perhaps he should find passage somewhere else like Alfheim and see what is wrong with his magic. The other half of him demands that he has adaranium on hand, that he _needs_ to have it.  
Loki sighs. He wants to go back for Aaravos.  
He _can’t_ go back for Aaravos. He has no idea how he could even go about getting back to such a tiny bubble dimension.  
He could find out...

Aaravos can feel his body still, standing like his astral form is. It is strange, being so disconnected from his body, though not wholly unfamiliar and certainly not unexpected.  
“You should sleep,” he tells Viren. “We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”  
“Sleep?” the mage demands. “When you’ve just done this!? You expect me to _sleep?”_  
Aaravos smirks. “Yes. You will be freed by dusk tomorrow. You will need sleep if you are to return as the king you will be.”  
He is not sure how he is so certain of this, but he _knows._

One more try, one more tentative try at making a counterfeit document before Loki leaves this venture behind to find out what is wrong. He cannot be certain anything is wrong without trying properly, anyway.  
But this time, instead of something pulling against him for control of his magic, whatever this force is pulls _him_ as well. Loki realizes what is happening just as his body leaves the universe, and he curses.  
He should have known it would not be so easy to escape. Just like the first time, he nearly crashes face-first into the bookshelf. _Unlike_ the first time, he has no adaranium with him. He is well and truly trapped this time.  
It is a small dimension, and he cannot avoid Aaravos forever, so he might as well get it over with. Who knows if time flows the same for the two of them? Aaravos might be long gone by now. Loki shakes off the horrific thought, and starts with the sitting room, where he last left Aaravos.

“How can you know this?” the mage asks.  
“If you will attempt to sleep, I will tell you,” Aaravos says.  
He cannot seem to shake the idea that when Viren sleeps, he will be able to talk to Loki again. _Loki is gone,_ he tells himself harshly, and turns his attention back to Viren.  
“One of my powers as a Startouch elf is knowing things before they happen,” Aaravos says, not realizing until he says it _why_ he knows Viren will be free tomorrow. He answers Viren’s next question, bound to be _so why are you imprisoned,_ before he asks it: “It can be rather unpredictable, however, so I do not rely on it. Does that answer your question sufficiently?”  
“Yes,” says Viren, eyes closed. “For now.”  
Aaravos rolls his eyes and murmurs a spell for long sleep. Once Viren falls asleep, he will stay that way for a good ten to twelve hours. Aaravos sees no reason to while away the time with the mage when he could be reading instead of how to break the spell– _just in case._  
Waiting for Viren to sleep, Aaravos tests the limits of his astral form. He finds he can go a fair distance from Viren, out of the dungeon and even a story up from the ground. Gravity does not affect this form, and air resistance only as much as he allows. He rather enjoys walking on the ceiling.  
He is sitting cross-legged on the ceiling of the kitchen, watching a glow toad and a small human sneak into the kitchen, when his astral form begins to fade.

Loki’s shoulders relax in relief when he sees Aaravos standing in the sitting room. His eyes are open, but clouded over as if there is a thin mesh over them. Loki knows he should not be surprised that Aaravos went ahead with the next phase of his plan, but there is an ache in his heart at knowing that Aaravos cannot see him, see that he came back.  
_Does he even care? He must hate me now._  
Even harder, how in the nine realms is he going to explain himself?  
He reaches up, the palm of his hand hovering over Aaravos’s cheek, debating whether to make his presence known or to run and hide, when Aaravos’s eyes clear back to their normal gold and black. Loki snatches his hand away, hopefully before Aaravos can see.

The first thing Aaravos sees when his vision returns is Loki in front of him, hand at the edge of his vision.  
His heart leaps before he reminds himself it’s only an illusion. Wishful thinking. Somehow, he must have lost control of his magic, and it created this.  
He looks at the illusion sadly. “I wish you were really here,” he admits. He closes his eyes, inhales, and…  
...perhaps he will leave the illusion a little longer. It would be nice to have Loki’s company again, even if it is not real.

Loki tries not to show the surprise on his face. This is not the first time someone has mistaken him for an illusion. He tilts his head in questioning, curious to see what Aaravos would say to him. “How goes your plan?” he asks. 

Aaravos laughs. “You came from my mind. You know how it goes: the mage will be free of his prison tomorrow, I of mine soon enough.” He pauses, unsure if he should admit– but this is not the real Loki, it cannot hurt. “I am glad you– the real you– is free. I hope you– he– whichever– is happy.”

Loki swallows, his face burning in a strange mixture of shame and… some sort of positive emotion that he cannot name. He looks off to the side, almost embarrassed, before reaching up and swatting Aaravos on the side of his head. “Perhaps I _would_ be happy if I did not have to leave you behind, you stupid pile of purple glitter.”

Aaravos chokes on his own breath when _the illusion touches him. “ **Loki?!?** ”_  
His face and ears heat instantly, thinking not only of what he _did_ say, but of all the things he _could_ have said.

Loki crosses his arms angrily, avoiding Aaravos’s eyes. “Yes, I was… _ugh_ I have no idea _why_ because I had no idea if I would ever be able to find you again, but I was trying to get more of that adaranium. Maybe it was just a precaution, but I just… yes so you should know that somehow my magic is tied to this realm, and when I tried to use it to procure more of the alloy, I… I landed back here.” He glares at the floor. “So... you should take that under advisement during your escape attempt.”

Aaravos stares at Loki, not sure what to say. Finally, he settles on, “You– you are not an illusion,” and immediately curses himself. _Could I have said anything more idiotic?_  
“I, er.” Aaravos searches desperately for words. “I… please do not take this the wrong way, but I _wish_ you had been an illusion.”  
And at the same time, he is glad Loki is real. He _knows_ he is not lying, he _does_ wish Loki were free… but at the same time, because he is glad Loki is here, he feels as though he is lying.

Loki did not realize it was possible, but his face burns even more. “No use wishing for the impossible. I am here, and I do not have any adaranium this time. I have absolutely no way to get us out of here.”

Something sparks inside Aaravos’s mind. What if Loki uses his way out, his spell? Perhaps the mage’s daughter would be willing to take Loki’s caterpillar–  
The _dark_ mage’s _dark_ mage daughter. It is a dark spell. That will not do.  
He can free Loki perfectly well and almost as soon without resorting to Loki’s use of dark magic.  
“Luckily, we still have my way,” he says, pulling a smile onto his face. “If I cannot break the mirror– _highly_ unlikely– the Dragon Queen should know how. Avizandum would not have kept me alive all these centuries if he did not see a use for me, and he was too smart to seal away something he could use.”

Loki scowls, lifting his eyes to glare at Aaravos. “Oh yes, _your_ way, the one that involves leaving me behind to wait for you.” Even just one day away from Aaravos, however, has softened his heart, and he cannot hold the angry expression. He rushes forward and wraps his arms around Aaravos. “I realized that leaving you was a mistake the moment I left, but do you realize how _terrified_ your plan makes me? I have been left behind by people that claimed to love me, Aaravos, abandoned to rot in solitary confinement. You have to _swear to me_ Aaravos, that you will not leave me behind. _Please._ ”

Aaravos’s smile vanishes, and he hugs Loki back fiercely. “I will not leave you behind, Loki. I _will not_ , I _swear_ it. I swear on my connection to the stars, on my _magic._ I cannot promise to never leave you, but I promise I will always, _always_ come back for you.”  
He cannot readily explain the surge of protectiveness he feels when Loki opens up to him, but then, he is not sure he is ready to know.

“I believe you… and it is not as if I have any other options anyway.”

“You could be angry,” Aaravos suggests in an attempt at a joke.

Loki smiles, hearing the humor in Aaravos’s tone. “Not at you, or never for long.” He ends the sentence with a yawn, realizing now how tired he is. The trip back to Aaravos took a lot of his strength, much like the first time. “Sorry, I do not mean to cut our reunion short, but I should get some rest. Engaging in interdimensional travel twice in one day sapped my strength.”

Aaravos nods. “Of course. I should rest soon as well.” His day has not exactly been _restful,_ what with the magic and the talking and the _worry._

“You can take the bed, then. I am the unwelcome guest after all.” Loki’s neck already aches at the thought. The couch is by no means comfortable.

Aaravos makes a small startled noise. “Unwelcome? Why would you ever think that? No, I can take the couch. You deserve to sleep comfortably.”

“You told me to go, and I landed right back here. It is _your_ bed.” An idea occurs to Loki that he is not sure he wants to voice aloud, not so soon after he abandoned Aaravos… but the bed _is_ big enough for two.

Aaravos folds his arms. “Yes, and I am telling you to take it. I…” He lets his arms drop. “I was cruel to you. I should not have been, and I am sorry. This is the least I can do to begin making up for it.”

“And _I_ was cruel to _you_ as well, Aaravos.” The next words spill out in a way one can only characterize as “accidentally on purpose.”  
“It does not feel right to sleep in your bed… it feels as if you should be there, ever since that night with the celestiale.”

Aaravos’s mouth falls slightly open. Is Loki… did Loki just say what Aaravos thinks he said? _Did he???_  
“I, ah…. That can certainly be arranged.”  
His ears are on fire, and he is sure Loki can see that. He pulls a few strands of hair from behind his ears, draping them over the points.

Loki cannot _believe_ he just said that. Perhaps he would have noticed Aaravos’s efforts to cover his ears were he not pointedly avoiding looking at Aaravos.  
He just… _loathes_ the idea of being alone again. “Okay, then, good.” He swallows awkwardly. “Then, we can share.”

“Yes.” Aaravos forces a cough in an attempt to hide the idiot’s grin growing on his face.  
_Why_ is he so bad with words around Loki? But, he got better? Why is it happening again?  
He takes three deep breaths, feeling his face and ears cool slightly, and glances at Loki. “Shall we head upstairs, then?”

Loki nods, moving past Aaravos to go upstairs so he does not have to _look_ at him. He uses a spell to change his clothes into suitable sleep wear and immediately gets into the bed, facing the far wall away from Aaravos once he catches up. _This is completely normal. Norns, we have even done this before, there is nothing to be so worked up over._

Aaravos sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed, facing away from Loki and humming an old Startouch lullaby to calm his nerves. _Aaravos, you are being an idiot. This is not a big deal. It is entirely possible to share a bed platonically. Besides, we have done so before. It is simply sleep.  
Yes, but it is sleep next to Loki,_ his traitor brain responds.

Oh no, and now Aaravos means to _torture_ Loki with his singing. He suppresses the groan and unfavorable comments about Aaravos’s humming and asks, “What are you humming?”

Aaravos straightens in surprise at Loki’s sudden question. “Oh… only a Startouch lullaby. ...would you like me to sing it for you?” he adds hopefully, half turning.

Loki can hear the hopeful tone, and he figures that he can bear a short lullaby. Besides, it would make Aaravos happy, and perhaps make the entire situation a little less awkward if they were both to direct their attention to something other than the fact that they are sharing a bed. “Yes, if you want to.”

Aaravos smiles and closes his eyes, humming a few notes before he starts singing quietly. Not really singing, even, only a little singsong. “Loo loo loo, I’ll take you dreaming, through the rainy night, to a place behind the raindrops where the stars are bright…”  
He can remember singing this many times, to each of Ziard’s children, and, longer ago, to his sister. He does not like children in general, but a few managed to find their way into his heart over the centuries.  
“We will tiptoe home with a wondrous star…”

Loki does not hate this as much as he thought he would.  
Perhaps it was the fear that he would never see Aaravos again, but he finds he likes Aaravos’s voice a lot more than he did. After all, it is not _so_ bad… he may have just been too harsh on him before. One would only expect a gorgeous singing voice with how musical Aaravos’s speaking voice is.  
He imagines a startouch elf singing this song to baby Aaravos, and is suddenly hit with a wave of grief for his own mother, who sang him the most beautiful songs when he was little.

Aaravos finishes the lullaby with, “Tonight, tonight, when all the world’s asleep, we will find a star… that you can always… keep,” and opens his eyes to realize he is now facing Loki. Or, the back of Loki’s head, anyway.  
Something about Loki’s posture looks _sad,_ so Aaravos reaches out, hesitates, and barely brushes Loki’s shoulder with his fingertips. “What is wrong?”

Loki turns over so that he is facing Aaravos, and he is not prepared for how close the elf is, looking at him with those golden eyes and eyebrows tilted upward in concern. He tries to ignore the burning in his cheeks. “That was lovely. It just… it reminded me of my mother. She would sing to me when I had nightmares as a boy.”

Aaravos gives a half smile and pulls back, noticing the redness of Loki’s face. “She sounds very kind. Would you like to sing one of her songs? I should love to hear it… but only if you wish to sing it.”  
He does not care as much about the song as about Loki’s voice, but Loki does not need to know that.

Loki nods slightly. “If I remember it correctly…” he hums a few notes to get the key. “Drømte mig en drøm i nat... Om silke og ærlig pæl... Bar en dragt så let og glat... I solfaldets strålevæld... -Nu vågner den klare morgen.” He does not know if the Allspeak extends to the language as he sings. He hopes Aaravos hears it as he does, even if it would not make sense to him. There is something about the sound that he has always loved, like coming home.

 _Loki has a lovely singing voice,_ Aaravos notices, before noting the enchanting melody or the fact he cannot understand the words.  
Calmer now, due to the soothing melody (and perhaps also the fact he could not understand the words), Aaravos leans back, relaxing into the pillows. 

“Alle de andre på os så… De smilede, og de lo,” Loki reaches out to stroke Aaravos’s hair, an almost impulsive response, as it was always what his mother did when singing to him. He falters momentarily as his brain catches up to his actions, but continues as if it was what he intended.  
The song is about dreaming about someone the singer loves, and dancing together in the dream. Loki thinks he would like to dance with Aaravos some time. He shall have to add it to the list.

Aaravos stiffens in discomfort when Loki first touches his hair, but after a moment relaxes again. _It is only Loki. No one else._  
His eyes drift closed as Loki finishes the song. Without opening them, he says, “That was a beautiful song. What is it about?”

Loki smiles at the confirmation that the song did not translate through the Allspeak. “It is about a dream the singer had, where they dance with someone they love, and they are happy with them until they wake with the dawn.”

“Perhaps we should dance, sometime–” Aaravos’s brain catches up to his mouth, and his eyes fly open, no longer sleepy.

Aaravos’s shocked face amuses Loki enough that he decides to tease him. He yanks his hand away from Aaravos’s hair and puts on an affronted expression. “I have only known you for a few _months,_ Aaravos, and you would proposition me like that? Dancing together is only for the most devoted of lovers. Are elves so free and loose with their affections?”

Aaravos stumbles over his own tongue as he tries to respond. At least the first few responses that come to mind do not make it _past_ his mind.  
He manages to take a deep breath and respond with some level of composure, “Is Asgard truly so strict? In Xadia dancing is a common activity, together or alone. It does not mean any such thing unless the dancers _wish_ it to mean such a thing… save for a certain few.”

Loki shakes his head, light laughter escaping him. “You should have seen your face!” He takes a moment to laugh a little more. “ _Relax,_ I was only messing with you. I would love to dance with you sometime.”

Aaravos reaches up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “Hmn. I should have known.” Loki’s last sentence registers, and he smiles. Torn between looking down and looking at Loki, he only smiles vaguely into space.  
True, dancing is not necessarily a romantic activity, but. Loki said he would love to dance with Aaravos. Does that mean he enjoys dancing, or that he wishes to dance _with Aaravos??_

Reaching out to pat Aaravos on the head, Loki says, “You have the same look on your face as Thor when he tries to do math. Stop thinking so much and go to sleep. We both need our rest, silly elf.”

Aaravos rolls his eyes overdramatically. “As the Princess commands,” he says, lying down again and closing his eyes. After a moment, he opens them again to say, “ _You_ need sleep too, Princess. Lie down.”  
A thought occurs to him, and he scoots closer to the edge to give Loki more space, in case he is uncomfortable being so close to Aaravos so soon after he left.

As startled as Loki was at seeing Aaravos so close, he is strangely saddened as Aaravos puts more space between them. He decides to ignore it, and closes his eyes to sleep.

If he were conscious of it, Aaravos would be surprised at how quickly he falls asleep.  
He dreams first of dancing with Loki at the Star Nexus, twirling around under the sky filled with more stars than makes sense. Somehow, the sky is all stars and yet still an endless expanse of velvety black. Aaravos smiles at Loki, and Loki smiles back.  
As they dance, Loki’s skin begins to sparkle, shining brighter and brighter until the light fades and Aaravos is dancing with Fial.  
“I love you, Aaravos,” Fial says, pulling him close. “I’d never betray you.” His grip turns icy, and Aaravos cannot escape.  
Fial’s head melts into a dragon’s. “Stay with me Aaravos. Trust me.” His voice is mocking, cold and high, and Aaravos _tries_ but he cannot get away, and Fial’s hands are turning his body to ice–  
He’s struggling against a cocoon of blankets, still shivering. When he calms, he instinctively pulls the blankets closer around him, breathing deeply. _Only a nightmare. Only a nightmare._  
Another shiver runs through his body, and he curls more tightly into the blankets.

Loki stirs awake, blinking sleepily in the dark as he comes to consciousness enough to see what woke him. The blankets are gone, or, more accurately, Aaravos has stolen them. He turns to see the elf curled into a tight ball, cocooned in the covers. Loki tugs on the corner of the blanket, only for Aaravos to grip them tighter.  
"You're not the only one in this bed anymore, damn elf, learn to share!" Loki whispers.  
Aaravos's face scrunches in displeasure, the starry freckles glinting in the low light. "I'm cold," he almost whines. Oh, Loki will _definitely_ be teasing him about that in the morning.  
But for now, Loki cannot help but think that the great archmage seems remarkably small. He taps Aaravos's shoulder, opening his arms. "Come here, then. I may be a frost giant, but I can keep you warm in this form, and then it'll be easier to share the blankets."  
Aaravos scoots closer, but instead of snuggling in, reaches out to pull Loki's head to his chest. "I'd poke you with my horns otherwise," he mumbles by way of explanation  
So Loki and Aaravos meet somewhere in the middle, Loki's forehead resting at Aaravos's chin. He can feel Aaravos's breath against his hair. Sharing their warmth, Aaravos releases his grip on the blankets and allows Loki to drape them over the two of them.  
Loki is beginning to drift off to sleep when he feels more than hears Aaravos whisper. "Thank you, Loki."  
He thinks that he hears Aaravos's voice tremble, and maybe the touch of a tear on his hair, but he chooses to ignore it. He figures Aaravos would prefer not to face that level of vulnerability yet anyway.  
He's tempted to thank Aaravos back, but stays silent, slowly drifting back to sleep. It is nice, he thinks, to have such a soft touch after so long.  
Loki thinks Aaravos must be thinking the same.

Aaravos stays awake a little longer than Loki, as his body calms from the nightmare. He is okay. He is safe here. Loki is not Fial. Loki is right here. And Loki is _warm._  
Aaravos’s eyes close, and he drifts into a dream he will not remember when he wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Loki sings is the first known secular song in nordic countries. You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=geBU_KmeAbE  
> and the translation is here: https://lyricstranslate.com/en/dr%C3%B8mte-mig-en-dr%C3%B8m-i-dreamt-dream-night.html
> 
> Aaravos's song is from the movie "The Court Jester," my first favorite movie. If you want to give it a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fteMYl0Dzk  
> ~Magi


	10. In Which Loki and Aaravos Reach the Same Conclusion Separately and Refuse to Breathe a Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all, and I think you can guess what conclusion they come to.

Aaravos wakes before Loki, blinking slowly in the dim light. It is good– different, but good– to feel another person in his arms again, to wake with the warmth of another living being beside him. This is _different_ from the time they slept together while drunk. That time, neither exactly consented to the bed-sharing, as drunken consent is not really consent, and both woke with hangovers. This time, both of them were perfectly sober, and Aaravos can remember well the previous night. The lullabies.  
He sighs, snuggling a little closer to Loki. He has not been this close to someone, physically or emotionally, for centuries. Well, of course not. He has been imprisoned ever since Fial betrayed his trust… and… love.  
Aaravos stiffens, realizing something.  
He loves Loki.  
With that realization, he also realizes he has been attempting to deny it for months, but it has not been working. He. Loves. Loki.  
But he _can't._  
Aaravos disentangles himself from Loki, pulling back. Last time he fell in love, he was betrayed to the Dragon King and wound up imprisoned for three hundred years. And that was starting from relative success and a comfortable life. Now? After having been broken down and forcing himself back to his feet too many times to count, if he is betrayed again he does not know where he will end up. An even more hellish place than the mirror prison, most likely.  
This cannot end well for him– or for Loki. He has to face reality: when they escape, Loki will leave, or they will be stuck in Xadia. Xadia, which most likely hates Aaravos by now. He will be ostracized, as will Loki if he sticks with Aaravos. It is better for both of them if they separate. Loki need never know of Aaravos's feelings, which will fade soon enough, he knows. He has loved before, and lost love. After a while, the pain dulls.  
"Where are you going?" Loki's voice asks sleepily.  
Aaravos freezes and half turns as his feet hit the floor. Loki is reaching out to him, a sleepy half smile on his lips.  
Aaravos's heart beats faster. _I cannot love him,_ he reminds it. _He took Fial's form, then I dreamed he became Fial. What can that be, if not some kind of– of premonition? I have had such prophetic dreams before. He will betray me, as Fial did._ His heart aches at the thought, but he forces himself to ignore it.  
"Breakfast," he replies, keeping his voice soft. "Sleep as long as you wish."  
It will be better, this way. He will keep his distance from Loki, not allow himself to get any closer. That way, when he frees Loki, they will be able to go their separate ways with no trouble. And then…  
And then, he supposes Loki will return to his world, and he to Xadia. It is for the best.  
His mind feels fuzzy, and he almost burns the oatmeal.

Loki slowly comes to wakefulness, missing the warmth Aaravos provided. Despite the brief disturbance last night, he slept well, _really_ well, and without the spell. As his eyes slowly blink open, he finds himself staring at the empty space Aaravos left behind. Loki’s cheeks heat as he realizes that he _cuddled_ Aaravos. He stooped so low as to _snuggle_ and even _enjoy_ it.  
He buries his face in his hands, groaning softly. _This is a problem._  
Loki has never understood what it feels like to be attracted to someone, to want someone in “that way,” and when he asked Fandral or Thor why they would attempt to woo some woman or sometimes, in Fandral’s case, man, they never offered helpful explanations. It’s just a “spark,” a “feeling” that draws them to an object of desire and heated passions.  
Loki still does not feel anything like they described, but that does not mean he has never desired a companion, someone to stay by his side and have a different kind of relationship with. He is beginning to think he wants that person to be Aaravos.  
_This is most definitely a problem._  
Still, there is nothing Loki can do about it now, so he stretches and goes downstairs to join Aaravos for breakfast.

Aaravos looks up when he hears Loki’s footsteps, heart beating a little faster.  
“I made oatmeal,” he says, lifting the pot. It is one of the few things he can cook. _Act natural._ “Do you have any more fruit in your pocket dimension?”

Loki nods, “I think so, but not much. If only I could have restocked before coming back.” He conjures a bunch of bananas, vanishing the ice that preserves them. “I am sorry, this is nearly the last of it.”

Aaravos looks between the bananas and Loki. “Then I do not need any. We should be freed soon, but I will be out first. You should save the fruit for yourself.”  
Curse it, he needs to _stop this!_ He needs to stop _caring_ so much, before his heart is broken again!

Loki cringes at the reminder that he will be alone here, even temporarily. “Yes, about that… will you be able to maintain communication with me once you are free?” He avoids looking at Aaravos, and keeps his voice steady as best he can. “When I was kept in solitary on Asgard, my mother would send illusions of herself to me, to check on me and keep me updated on events, even if there was no hope of my freedom.  
“I may not deserve such kindness after leaving you, but I would appreciate it, and it would go a long way to maintaining my sanity, if you could update me on your progress from the outside.”  
Loki’s stomach flips at the words leaving his mouth, the vulnerability in them. He can only hope that Aaravos will be cold enough to set him straight. Loki needs to get these distressing emotions under control before he falls apart again.

“Of course you deserve it,” Aaravos says without thinking. How could Loki think he does not? “I _will_ keep you updated.”  
Aaravos has no idea how he will manage this, unless he can access the mirror and paper. But he _will_ – he _needs to stop caring but how is he supposed to stop caring about LOKI??_

Loki does not realize how his frustration is building until it erupts. He slams his fists down on the kitchen counter. _“HOW_ can you be so cavalier now? How can you still offer me kindness? Act as if nothing happened? I betrayed you! I left you to fend for yourself when I told you I would stay with you! I took my freedom with no consideration for the trials that you are going through to achieve yours and… you should be furious with me! You should be yelling at me, shooting lightning at me, demanding I not enter the same room as you and yet, you offer me breakfast! You, you, what the _hel_ is _wrong_ with you?”

Aaravos jerks back when Loki shouts, reflexes barely fast enough to save the oatmeal. What– is he _angry_ that Aaravos is _not angry?  
But he _is._ His own anger bubbles up now as an almost instinctive reaction to being yelled at. He slams the oatmeal pot down and snaps, "Give me one _good_ reason why I should be angry with you for returning when I never wanted you to leave!"_

__

“Well _I_ never wanted to leave either, but I did! We cannot pretend that I did not. Hel, I was still debating whether to try to come back or not but the choice was taken from me! I _left_ you and I may not have come back had I not been forced! Can you say that there is no part of you that resents me? That wishes to make me suffer as you have?”

__

“I…” How is Aaravos to respond to that?  
He shakes his head, taking a step forward to help himself regain his composure. “What are you _truly_ angry about, Loki? Are you _truly_ angry that I am not? Or is it something else?”  
He reaches out slowly. “Why would I intentionally hurt you now? It would not solve anything–”

__

Loki slaps Aaravos’s hand away when it gets close. “Stop acting so _high and mighty_ when I know you must have just as much of a heart for vengeance as anyone. Stop acting like you’re so much better than me. You’re always hiding what you really think, what you really feel, always so stoic and _perfect,_ but I’m. Not. Buying. It.  
“So just get it over with already! Quit the act, just, just _stop it._ I refuse to wait forever for your fuse to run out, so just get it over with! _Do SOMETHING, please._ ”

__

Aaravos closes his eyes and straightens his back, fists clenching at his sides. Slowly, he takes one full breath, then another, before opening his eyes. Icy-voiced, he says, “You wish me to be angry? Very well then. I _am_ angry. Furious, even. But…” his tone softens, “not with the only friend I have had in centuries.” His eyes close again. “You were justifiably angry. I should have told you sooner– maybe–” _no,_ he cannot afford to admit that maybe he should not have gone through with the spell– “Truly, I am surprised you are not angrier at me.  
“I am furious now, not with you, but with whoever has led you to believe a friend cannot forgive you as easily as you forgive them. With Avizandum, for imprisoning me. With all those who have hurt you. With those who have hurt me. My only anger towards you is that you think I _must_ be furious with you for something I would have done myself in your place.”  
Throughout this, he keeps his voice calm, a thin veil over the rage inside him. He does not like showing anger, as it is too easy to lose control, but that does not mean he does not feel it. He lifts his head and smiles coolly. “ ‘Not at you, or never for long,’ ” he quotes Loki’s own words. “Would you have me treat you with less courtesy than you treated me?”

__

Loki stares down at the floor. He recognizes the words that Aaravos quotes back to him. “One does not use the same rules when interacting with all people or creatures. Even if a spider and a mouse are both pests, you capture or kill them differently. The farmer tends to the sheep differently than the horses… I am… I am different from you. It only makes sense that you would treat me differently than I would treat you.”

__

“ _Differently_ does not necessitate _worse,_ ” Aaravos says, more sharply than he means to. “I know what treatment _I_ deserve, and I know you have not done so much evil as I.” He inhales, counting to ten before exhaling and saying more calmly, “Do you believe I deserve forgiveness?”

__

“Without a doubt,” Loki answers without hesitation. Silently, he adds, _You deserve the world and all the stars in the sky._

__

Aaravos narrows his eyes. “Even though I have killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, directly and indirectly? Every death of my own free will?”

__

Loki shoots Aaravos a wry smile. “Do we need to compare kill counts, Aaravos?”

__

“Yours were under duress,” Aaravos says. “Tell me, why am I so worthy of forgiveness if you are not? Wh–” He blinks, vision spotting. Dammit, the mage is waking up. Could he not have waited _five more minutes??_  
He smooths a smile onto his face as his vision clears to reveal the mage’s cell, with, of course, the mage.  
“Good morning, my lord,” he says with a bow, noting the light. “How do you fare this fine day?”  
“Good morning,” the mage replies. “How long until I am free?”

__

Loki takes notice when Aaravos’s voice cuts off, and he sees his eyes cloud over into a milky purple. Loki sighs, then sets up two servings of oatmeal. He takes one bowl for himself, then guides the other into Aaravos’s hands, guiding the elf’s fingers to the spoon handle so he can eat if he wishes.  
He knows that Aaravos can navigate the prison without his sight or hearing. He must be familiar with it by now, but Loki is still inclined to find a cane so Aaravos does not bump into things should he try to move around. Perhaps a spell or enchanted object would aid him. There is not much else he can do to occupy his time.

__

Aaravos can feel the bowl and spoon being placed in his hands. He’d nearly forgotten about the oatmeal.  
He cannot eat it now, not while he is talking to the mage. He smiles in what he thinks is Loki’s direction, and says, “Less than the time til dusk.”  
“That is not an answer.”  
“It is not the answer you wished to hear,” Aaravos responds, resisting the urge to rub his temples. Already he is tired of the mage. At least when the man could not see him, he could still pass the time conversing with Loki. Now, as the movements of his astral projection roughly mimic the movements of his body, he is far more limited.  
His stomach reminds him that it has not yet been fed. He needs to go somewhere else, get out of the mage’s sight just for a few minutes.  
“I will go scouting,” he says. “Perhaps I can see your enemies’ plans.”  
Without waiting for a response, he begins walking in place, moving his astral form swiftly out of the prison. Once out of the mage’s sight, he quickly finishes the oatmeal, then turns. _Loki?_ he mouths. _Is there paper?_

__

Loki is not sure how to answer Aaravos when he cannot see nor hear him. He conjures a piece of paper and pen, handing them to Aaravos by way of an answer.  
He is beginning to realize that he should stay in the same room with Aaravos, to help him and keep an eye on him. Loki is suddenly very grateful he landed back here, so that he can be there for his friend at this time.

__

Aaravos continues walking, moving his projection through the castle as he writes, _“I am sorry. Thank you. I forgive you.”_  
There is one other thing part of him wishes to write, but he cannot.

__

Loki cannot help but chuckle a little. “Well, I cannot argue with you _now,_ can I? Excellent timing on your part.” He knows that Aaravos cannot hear him, but it is still nice to talk to him as if he can.  
He knows that the couch in the sitting room is one of Aaravos’s favorite places to sit, and at this rate Aaravos will be leaning against the counter all day until the mage decides to sleep. That will not do. Loki takes Aaravos’s hand and tugs gently to indicate he will lead Aaravos somewhere.

__

Aaravos startles at first at the sudden contact, but follows Loki’s lead. He is not entirely comfortable, feeling every moment as though he is about to hit a wall or a chair or some other obstacle, but he can trust Loki, right?  
_You thought you could trust Fial, too, and look where that got you,_ says his mind.

__

Loki is careful to guide Aaravos so he does not bump into anything. A couple times he even uses his telekinesis to shove objects out of the way. He will have to clean up the mess he left behind, but it leaves Aaravos’s journey uninhibited. Once they reach the sitting room, Loki sits Aaravos down in his favorite spot, and pats his hair to assure Aaravos that he is still here and not going anywhere.  
Once he sets everything back in order (Aaravos is so particular Loki is certain he will notice no matter what he does to restore things) Loki picks up a book and sits near Aaravos. It is going to be a long day.

__

* * *

__

Aaravos’s astral form floats back to the mage’s side with a smirk. “As I said, freed by dusk. And as soon-to-be king, no less. I deliver on my promises, do I not?”  
“Yes,” the mage agrees. To the child who takes his place in the cell, he says, “I am sorry it had to come to this.”  
“No,” the boy says. “You’re not.”  
Unseen, Aaravos winces. _“I am sorry it came to this, Aaravos.” “No, you’re not. Don’t lie to me, not now.”_  
The mage smiles, turning away. “You’re right. I’m not.”  
Aaravos pulls a smirk back onto his face as he trails after the mage.

__

Loki tries to stay focused on the task at hand, creating something to help Aaravos move around while he is blind and deaf. He cannot help looking up at Aaravos every other moment, and it makes the work go at half the speed he should be capable of. Sometimes Loki catches himself trying to read the words on Aaravos’s lips, imagining what he is saying to the human mage, and what is happening on the other side.  
He looks up from his work again, almost instinctively, and sees Aaravos wince. Before he even realizes what he is doing, he leaps up to check on Aaravos, to help him somehow, but a moment later the distressed expression is replaced by another one of Aaravos’s signature smirks.  
_That’s not what he looks like when he is truly happy._ Loki’s protective nature argues, insisting that he still needs to help, but how can he?  
The best thing that he can do now is to make Aaravos’s job easier. The sooner Aaravos is free, the sooner he can free Loki as well. Yes, that is all this is, right? A desire to protect his escape route.  
No… Loki is a skilled liar, even to himself, but he is not _that_ skilled.

__

Aaravos watches silently through the mage’s brief argument and subsequent coronation. He is somewhat less fond of the man now than he was just ten minutes ago, and as the crowd chants he is reminded uncomfortably of the king the elves hailed so readily, the same one who imprisoned Aaravos.  
His skin crawls, and he decides he will cast _nec somniare_ on the mage as soon as he can.  
An opportunity comes later that evening, as Viren sits alone in his study, but Aaravos has barely begun the rune when a girl walks in.  
Her gaze fixates on the caterpillar immediately. “Oh, who’s your new friend?”  
Aaravos nearly laughs aloud as she reaches out to pet the caterpillar and the mage jerks away. Ah, she is the girl from the day before. Viren’s daughter.  
He listens to their conversation and learns that the boy who took the mage’s place was in fact the king– a child king? what was Katolis thinking?– and that the mage _truly_ believes he is merely trying to help. It is all too obvious that his true motivation is more selfish.  
...but perhaps not to humans. Aaravos swallows hard when the girl tells her father she will be there for him, to help him.  
“Well-played,” he says smoothly. “She will be a valuable asset.” Now, if he has judged Viren right–  
“She is not an asset!” the mage snaps. “She is my _daughter._ ”  
“Of course, my apologies.” Internally, Aaravos rolls his eyes. 

__

Loki zeros in on the device with as much concentration he can muster with Aaravos sitting just a few feet from him. He knows it would be to his benefit to move to another room, but Loki cannot bring himself to leave Aaravos.  
Ah, the tricky part, having it work for Aaravos specifically. Loki leans over, debating his next course of action. Even though he knows Aaravos cannot hear him, he mutters an apology and plucks a hair from Aaravos’s head.  
He avoids looking at the surely irritated face Aaravos must be making, and wraps the hair around the pen. One last spell should do it... Loki weaves his magic around the pen like silk, and to his eyes he can see all the threads that connect the different properties. Now that he incorporated the hair, he can see the glowing connection to Aaravos. His eyes follow it to look at his face, and Loki can feel his brow, formerly furrowed in concentration, relax at the sight of his friend. “I wish I could do more.”

__

Aaravos does not get another chance to send Viren to sleep before he glances at a clock and strides out the door.  
Aaravos trails behind him again, watching and learning. Hm. Many soldiers who will fight with the mage, yet the previous king demanded that no one be forced to. ...Aaravos can respect this.  
A surprising number of the humans throw down their weapons, refusing to fight despite the mage’s attempted humiliation. Aaravos could have told him that might not work as he planned, but the mage never asked, and would likely not have listened anyway.  
_Weak links._ Aaravos scoffs internally. It takes _strength_ to stand against authority.

__

Now that he is done with the “helper device” - he will need a better name than that - Loki is not sure what to do. He does not feel the need for dinner yet, and he does not want to leave Aaravos’s side anyway.  
“I wonder how much longer it will be. I can see why you could not give me an estimate of your age. It is difficult to get any sense of time here.”  
Loki finds he likes speaking aloud. At this point, he can almost imagine how Aaravos will respond.  
“But how would you respond if I told you my latest dilemma? That I cannot give a proper estimate for.”  
_I would hate to be so predictable. You cannot know until you tell me._ Aaravos would say.  
“Yes, that is part of the problem, is it not?”

__

Finally, _finally,_ the mage heads to bed. This time, Aaravos sits down on the floor, waiting until he can see his astral form fading before moving to the mage’s side, drawing the rune, and whispering _“Nec Somniare”_ just before he fades completely. There, he will stay asleep for several hours, with any luck enough time for Aaravos to sleep and eat as well as spending time with Loki.  
His eyes open, and he blinks, disoriented. Was he not in the kitchen when he faded? Where is he now? Ah– the sitting room.

__

Loki quickly goes quiet as he sees Aaravos’s eyes begin to clear. He averts his gaze to the pen in his hands, fiddling with it as if he were still working.  
“Are you back, now?” he asks. “How was your day?” There is a strange normalcy in the question he chooses to ask, as if he were welcoming a spouse home after a day at work.

__

Aaravos glances to the side, glad to see Loki again. He offers a smile. “Not bad, but better now.”

__

Loki holds the pen in his hands aloft to get Aaravos’s attention. “I have been working on this, I thought it might help you. First, hold it, tell me how it feels in your hand.”

__

Aaravos takes the object Loki offers him. “It is a pen? It feels… is that _hair?_ ”

__

Loki rolls his eyes. “Yes, Aaravos, it is a pen, but it is also _more_ than that now. I added a few charms to it so that it can help you… and one of them necessitated a DNA component.” He hands Aaravos a pad of paper. “Try writing something with your eyes closed.”

__

Aaravos wrinkles his nose in confusion. “Let me think of what to write.”  
After a moment, he closes his eyes and scrawls, _“Thank you, Loki.”_  
He opens his eyes, and there are the words, written neatly and evenly across the page. He looks up at Loki. “You did this?”

__

Loki nods. “It is working properly, then. I felt the tug at my left hand. I also charmed it to give me a signal if you write anything with it, so I will know to go to you and see what message you wished to send if I am in another room. And, as you can see, it stabilizes your writing so it is more legible.”  
He places the cap on the pen. “When the cap is on, the pen also functions as a navigating device. It will grow cold when you are about to bump into something. When the cap is off, it will grow warm when I am near.”  
Loki is not sure why he added the last function, since Aaravos can just write when he wants to summon Loki… perhaps a part of him hopes that Aaravos is comforted by Loki’s presence just as Loki is comforted by his.

__

Aaravos barely knows what to say. “You… you did this for _me?_ All of this, in one small device, for me?” He can scarcely believe it. _And after this morning, too?_

__

Loki nods. “Of course. It was no real trouble. It is not as if I had much else to occupy my time. We are in this together, now. I should help you in our shared goals.”  
He hesitantly adds, “And… I want you to be comfortable. Your sight and hearing are on the other side, but your body is here, and that must be disorienting.”

__

“Sometimes,” Aaravos admits. “I have another form… my astral projection… on the other side. I can control it as I control this body, even separately, though that is more difficult.” His grip on the pen tightens. “This will be quite useful. Thank you.” His ears warm, and he adds lightly, “Princess.”

__

Loki surprises himself when he smiles at the nickname. Rather than being annoying, the way it was when Aaravos first called him that, it assures him that Aaravos is still his friend, still comfortable enough with him to tease him. “You’re welcome, Sparkles.”

__

Aaravos holds up a hand, turning it so his sparkling skin catches the light. “I haven’t the faintest idea why you call me that,” he remarks, holding back a yawn. The longer he can go without letting on he is tired, the longer he will be able to spend with Loki.  
And the tireder he will be tomorrow, but the mage hardly pays attention to him anyways.

__

“You must be tired,” Loki remarks. “Not only has it been a long day, you have been navigating your astral form the entire time.”  
He stands, grabbing Aaravos’s hands to pull him to his feet. “Come on, to bed with you. Both our freedom depends on you maintaining your strength.”

__

“No,” Aaravos protests, “I do not need to sleep yet. I have gone longer sleepless and been perfectly fine.”  
_I do not want to take away from time with you._

__

“Hm… this reminds me of something… but I cannot put my finger on to what.” Loki strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Would you perhaps like to ‘meditate in the garden’ instead, Sparkles?”

__

Aaravos folds his arms and gives Loki a stern look. He holds it for a full four seconds before uncrossing his arms and sighing. “Very well,” he says reluctantly, moving past Loki towards the stairs. “But, for the record, _you_ were barely standing.”  
He could not have tripped over a small stool that should _not_ be there with any more perfect timing.

__

Loki manages to contain his snicker, but a smirk still makes its way onto his face. “Yes, you seem perfectly capable of standing,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I will need to rest as well, so I will join you shortly, and if you stop by your fiction library to stay up to read, I will know.”

__

Aaravos smiles wryly, looking at the floor as he walks. “That stool should have been by the other wall,” he says absently, focusing on _I will join you shortly._ Does that mean– is Loki planning on them sharing again tonight? Will this become _normal?_  
He frowns. He likes this thought. Perhaps too much. He _cannot_ love Loki, not now, not when he is so certain he will be betrayed again. But then, Loki has not given any sign that he will betray Aaravos, but then again, Fial did not at first either.  
He can enjoy this in the moment, can he not? He only needs to guard his heart, keep from trusting absolutely, from sleeping without wards once he is free. He will _not_ make the same mistake twice.

__

Once Aaravos disappears at the top of the stairs, Loki goes to the kitchen and begins boiling water. He looks at the options for food and heaves a sigh. At this point, he would go to Muspelheim and hug a fire demon just for some decent food.  
Soon, he climbs the steps with two bowls in hand, levitating them to free his hands and open the door to the bedroom. Aaravos seems to be sleeping soundly already. _Do not need sleep yet my arse._  
The elf seems so peaceful, so unburdened, that Loki hates to wake him. Still, he should not sleep on an empty stomach. He gently shakes Aaravos awake. “Time for dinner. I will give you three guesses as to what it is, and the first two do not count.”

__

Aaravos pries his eyelids apart. “Is it vegetable soup again?” He pushes himself up, coming more awake. “Should I not come down to the food? You are no servant, you needn’t make the food and carry it up two full flights of stairs.”

__

Loki chuckles. “Close, it’s stew. I thought we could mix it up a little.” Loki practically throws the bowl at him in an attempt to stop his protests. “I have my own serving here, and I plan on eating it in bed as well, so cease your whining. I do what I wish, not out of obligation.”

__

Aaravos pauses, mouth open. _You… **wanted** to do this for me?_  
He shakes himself and looks down at his bowl. “...Thank you. It is delicious.”

__

Loki smiles with a mouth full of stew. Swallowing the mouthful - because despite what Aaravos may think, he has a _few_ table manners, one of them not talking while he eats - he says “I am surprised you can say that. I am already sick of it, and I have not been here nearly as long.”

__

“Everything you cook is delicious,” Aaravos replies. “And… I cannot cook many things. At least vegetable soup has _variations._ ”

__

When they finish, Loki holds his bowl out to Aaravos. “Care to do the honors of cleaning? I have yet to connect with as many arcana as you.”

__

Aaravos draws the Ocean rune over both bowls and spoons. _“Purificati.”_ He takes the dishes, leaning over to put them on the side table/miniature bookshelf by the bed. Halfway through, he yawns, and nearly drops the bowls. “Perhaps I still need sleep.”  
He does not face Loki as he lies back down. “Thank you again for dinner, Princess.”

__

Loki wants to do something, but he cannot determine what it is that he wants. He just wants _something,_ like for Aaravos to turn around so he can-  
That is a dangerous train of thought.  
“Sleep well, Sparkles,” Loki says, laying down in the covers facing away from Aaravos. He grips the edge of the blanket tight in his hands. His only friend in the multiverse is right there, a few inches behind him, and he feels lightyears away.  
He does his best to put that uncomfortable thought out of his mind and sleep.

__

Aaravos wakes with a start, breath coming in quick little gasps. Alone– he is alone again– all alone–  
\--he reaches back with one hand, praying that being alone was the dream, that Loki’s presence was reality, and his breathing steadies when he finds Loki’s hand with his. Giving it a squeeze, he closes his eyes, and settles back to sleep.

__

Loki half wakes up to Aaravos grabbing onto his hand. He has enough awareness to squeeze back, and he smiles. Aaravos still needs him.

__


	11. How Do You Not Get Attached to Someone You're Magically Imprisoned With? Asking for a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued shenanigans, feelings, and pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you catch the Good Omens reference?

When Loki wakes she is still holding Aaravos’s hand. She gently pries it from his grasp, slowly so as not to wake him. He needs all the rest he can get, after all.  
Taking last night’s dishes with her, Loki tiptoes downstairs to begin with breakfast, shifting form and better fitting clothes on the way. As she waits for the oatmeal to heat, she braids her hair back. Once breakfast is finished, she goes upstairs to wake Aaravos, leaving the food downstairs. He does not get a meal in bed twice in a row. Moving around will help him wake up.  
“Aaravos, it's time to wake up,” Loki calls as she opens the curtains. She has picked up enough to control the lighting in the prison the same way Aaravos does, so she imitates daylight from the window.  
Aaravos does not stir, even with the light falling directly on his face. For a moment, Loki’s blood runs cold, until she sees the rising and falling of his chest. She sits on the side of the bed and shakes his shoulder. Even though she knows he likely cannot hear her at this point, she still speaks. “Wake up, Aaravos. You slept too long and your mage must be awake now.”

Aaravos wakes at the shaking, blinking sleepily. “Good–” His greeting freezes in his mouth. This is not his room. This is an unfamiliar place, and he is unsure of how he got here. That is not good.  
His eyes dart around as he keeps his body still. They land on the mage, combing his hair, and Aaravos realizes abruptly what happened. Oh _stars_ that is annoying!  
He pushes aside the wave of regret that he did not wake early enough to spend more time with Loki and sits up. He does not wish to interact with the mage right now, so he stays silent and moves his astral form out to explore. There is not much else to do.

Loki grabs the pen and a pad of paper, pressing them into Aaravos’s hands. First things first, Aaravos needs to be able to communicate and move around.  
She supposes she should bring breakfast to Aaravos, since it is more important that he eats rather than walking himself to the kitchen. Besides, there is no other way she can communicate to him that breakfast is ready besides putting the bowl in his hands.  
Loki has suffered with having her voice stolen before. She has, on many occasions, lost the ability to communicate. Now, though, that she cannot talk to Aaravos, she thinks she prefers the muzzle. At least then she could sign or express her emotions with her eyes. Now, she is almost completely cut off, save for what little she can convey through touch.  
Satisfied with the pen and paper in Aaravos’s hands, she leaves to get breakfast.

As he leaves the mage, Aaravos feels pen and paper pressed into his hands, and his eyes widen. Loki is there, and he– no, the hands are Loki’s female hands– she is taking care of Aaravos.  
True, gender does not necessarily match form, but Aaravos has learned that Loki prefers to change their shape to match their gender. Since Loki was in male form last night, there is no reason for her to be in female form now unless she is female now.  
_“Thank you,”_ he writes, standing. He needs breakfast, and it would be far too much to expect Loki to bring him another meal.  
But his mind cannot handle trying to do something with one body when his sight is informing him about another body’s surroundings, and he half falls out of bed. Ow.  
Sighing, Aaravos closes his eyes and tries again. This time, he manages to climb to his feet and walk slowly but steadily out of the room, mindful of the pen’s temperature. Soon enough, he is, he thinks, in the kitchen. He hopes Loki is there, he thinks she would like to hear how her pen saved him from an embarrassing bruise on the door of his room.  
Wait, he can find out. Aaravos smiles and uncaps the pen. Immediately, it turns warm, and his smile grows.

Loki feels the tug at her left hand, signalling that Aaravos wrote something with the pen just after she left. She will read whatever it is when she returns. However, while Loki is ladling two servings of oatmeal for her and Aaravos to share, she turns to see Aaravos in the doorway, holding the uncapped pen and smiling. Is he smiling because of his victory in navigation… or because the pen must be warm and he knows Loki is there?  
She smiles back, pleased both that her charms worked and proud of Aaravos for making it downstairs so quickly. She crosses the kitchen to hand Aaravos his breakfast. 

Aaravos puts the cap on the back of the pen, writes, _“Good morning, Loki!”_ and holds the pad up for her to see. He hopes, at least; he is not sure he is looking in the right direction. After a moment, he balances the pad on his hand again to write _“How are you?”_ Then, _“Your pen saved me from quite the embarrassment today.”_

Loki shakes her head as Aaravos holds up the pad a little too far to the left for her to read clearly. She pulls on it to read it, and wonders how Aaravos expects her to respond to the question. She smiles, and guides Aaravos’s hand to her face, so he can feel the smile and know that she is happy. She _is_ happy that the pen worked well for him, even if she hates how limited her communication with him is. Loki supposes that is the next problem she will have to solve. Good. She needs to stay busy.

Loki brings Aaravos’s hand to her face, and for a moment Aaravos is happy with this– then his eyes widen and he pulls his hand back. No, this will not do, _no._ Firstly, his ears are burning because of how much he enjoyed that simple contact, and secondly, he _cannot_ allow himself to fall for Loki any more!  
A part of him is even thankful to hear the mage’s voice saying, “Aaravos, are you there? We are leaving Katolis now.”  
Taking a step back, he replies, “I am here. So long as my caterpillar is with you, I am with you.” He opens his eyes to see the mage mounting a horse in the courtyard. His children are already on horses, as are a few other people Aaravos does not recognize, but most of the crowd is on foot. Soldiers, all.  
They are marching to Xadia.

Loki frowns as Aaravos snatches his hand away, cheeks turning a more vibrant violet. Perhaps that was not the best course of action, but what else was she supposed to do?  
She hands Aaravos the bowl of oatmeal and, taking her own, goes to leave. “My apologies, even if you cannot hear them… You… you know how to find me, if you need me.”

Aaravos smiles in thanks when Loki gives him the bowl. He has to shift pen and paper to one hand to take it, so he cannot thank her properly, but he hopes the smile conveys his gratitude well enough. Not just for the oatmeal, he is grateful for so much more, but he cannot _name_ anything besides the food.  
Closing his eyes again, he finds a seat, and– oh, why not? With a quick spell, his astral form is seated atop an illusion horse in the same way his real body is seated on the chair. He smiles and begins to eat his breakfast.  
He stays quiet, studying the mage, until something interesting _finally_ happens: The mage’s son rides up behind him, and reaches out to hit his father’s head. Aaravos raises an eyebrow in amusement.  
The mage catches his son’s hand without looking.  
“Dad, there’s a bug on your ear. Don’t you want me to, you know, smoosh it?”  
“No, Soren,” the mage sighs, “do not smoosh the bug.”  
Aaravos chuckles, and misses most of the rest of the exchange. _Most._ He catches enough to have an idea about how to amuse himself.  
“Has our relationship truly escalated to this new height?” he asks, flipping his astral form upside down directly in front of the mage. “Am I your _little bug pal?”_  
He laughs at the mage’s reaction, and switches to seriousness to ask the mage about Avizandum’s death.

Loki fiddles with her magic, a mix of green and gold held aloft just over her palms. She adjusts the magic she used before to make visual messages to perhaps send it as a telepathic message. It is a frustrating endeavor, to transform visual shapes and symbols into something as abstract and cerebral as a message within one’s mind.  
She consistently wonders how Aaravos is doing. She thought before that she had to be in his presence to keep an eye on him and his well-being. Now, he has more independence, and she still wants to be by his side. Why? He cannot see nor hear her, so it should not matter one way or the other.  
Loki hates being alone.  
Sighing, and rationalizing to herself that she needs to have Aaravos nearby to test any communication spells she develops, she goes back to the kitchen. Aaravos is smiling, one of his true, genuine smiles. Perhaps he is warming up to the human mage.  
She does not know if she likes the thought of that, of the two of them being so friendly… Loki spins on her heel and returns to the sitting room.

As the mage begins the story, Aaravos stands. The couch will be more comfortable than the kitchen chair, and Loki is likely in the sitting room as well, and _no that does not have anything to do with his decision._  
Holding the pen, he makes his way to the sitting room, moving over to the couch.  
He laughs at the mage’s reaction, gesturing as he speaks. “Avizandum was no _person!” He was a monster. A beast._ “Avizandum was an archdragon. The great king of all the dragons. The most powerful creature in the world?” He arches an eyebrow. _With the exception of myself, and possibly Loki._ “Yet somehow, _you_ brought him down.”

Loki, seated peacefully on the sofa, looks up to see Aaravos approaching, smiling and laughing as he moves to the couch. She tries to ignore the familiar stirrings of jealousy as she makes room for him. “Of course you would have to follow me in here. You seem to enjoy making trouble.” Loki muses aloud, safe in the knowledge that Aaravos cannot hear her.  
She wonders if Aaravos followed her, or if he merely came in here because it is one of his preferred spaces. If she _really_ wanted to be away from him, she should pick another room, but it is nice to have someone to talk to, even if it is entirely one-sided.  
“This is very much like when we first met, do you realize?” Loki laughs. “We could barely say two words to each other for fear of revealing our ignorance. Little did we know neither of us had any clue what was going on.” She smiles, imagining Aaravos is listening intently to her instead of whomever is on the other side of the mirror. “Little did we know how much we would need each other.”

Aaravos leans on the back of the couch, listening and nodding along as the mage spins a tale of a great battle, in which his exaggerations of his own bravery and nobility are too clear.  
The mage pauses, and Aaravos tells him to continue. This trip is boring enough already, he may as well learn more. Perhaps he will be able to tell Loki what happened to Avizandum when he returns.  
A wild grin creeps onto his face when the mage tells of the dragon’s death. _Oh, Loki will be pleased to hear how the monster died. Perhaps, since he is stone, we can visit and gloat for a time, when we are free._  
\--but he forgot. He and Loki will part ways when they are free. It must be that way.  
“What an _incredible_ story,” he says, covering his yawn. “I am delighted you took down that arrogant monster.”  
Perhaps he should have kept his mask up, he realizes when the mage says, “It sounds like you have a history with Avizandum.”  
Aaravos scowls, putting his hands behind his head. “Oh, I do. _He_ is the reason I am where I am today.”  
...but, perhaps…. Well, he would not have met Loki had he never been imprisoned…  
A tiny smile creeps onto his face at the thought.  
“And where _are_ you?” the mage asks.  
His smile vanishes. “Prison.”

Loki throws her hands up in frustration at another failed attempt. Telepathy is not _such_ an advanced magic that she should not be able to master it. She has used the basics before, though it has been many decades.  
Ah, but that is dealing with a person inside their own body, and utilizing the energies of her universe to work as a tether between her mind and the mind of the other person. This is far more complicated, and thus infinitely more frustrating. She glances up at Aaravos, who has long since invaded her personal space by draping himself across the couch in his apparent boredom and desire to fidget. “I will figure this out, Aaravos, but I will not risk hurting you in the process, not even to give you a headache.”  
She drums her fingers along the arm of the couch. “Perhaps I need to connect with Xadia’s specific energies… from what I know of the moon, I doubt that will be sufficient. The sky perhaps? Something that inhabits the space between everywhere one goes? I should do more research.”

“You’re in prison?” the mage asks in surprise. “Your home looks like no prison I’ve ever seen.”  
Aaravos… is too _tired_ for this. “Yes, it is well appointed, but a _prison_ nonetheless.” He _wants_ to be angrier about it, wants to show his anger at his, to his mind, unjust imprisonment, but he is tired of being angry, and he cannot be angry anyways when he is still thinking of Loki.  
A soldier comes running up with a message for the mage. Aaravos sighs and leans back, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander.  
He should have predicted it would wander to Loki. 

Loki returns to the sitting room with three books specifically on the sky arcanum. “I doubt this will come as easily as the moon… and that was… well let us not repeat that.” She sits down and begins thumbing through the pages to see what catches her attention. “Now that there is no one to hear me, I realize, this is probably the most I have spoken in most of my life. Although, even if you could hear me, I know you would listen. Perhaps that is why I wish to talk to you, even if you are somewhere else at the moment.”  
She reaches out, hand hovering over Aaravos’s arm. She wants to pat his hand, perhaps squeeze his arm, let him know she is there, but she also does not wish to startle him. Loki pulls back, hand falling uselessly by her side, and settles for a grateful smile. “I appreciate you Aaravos. I never thought I would like talking so much.”

Aaravos pulls himself back to his current mission as they approach the lava-filled Breach. Is it not impassable for the humans? Then why has the mage chosen to lead his army this way? It would take something special indeed to produce the kind of power a dark mage would need to pass the Breach.  
Then the mage’s daughter pulls a rather large dragon horn from her satchel, holding it up with a grin. The mage smiles proudly at his daughter, and Aaravos cannot contain his _“Yesss.”_  
The girl is _powerful and intelligent._ Moreso than her father. If Aaravos can turn her loyalty to him, she could be a great ally. Perhaps even an apprentice, though it is too early to know if they will work well enough together for that.  
Still, Aaravos _likes_ her.  
He sends his projection diving into the lava, so when it is pushed to the sides he can turn and bow, smiling as if he were the one who cast the spell.  
The army rides through, and Aaravos falls behind the mage, closing his eyes and working hard to keep his mask in place.  
True, it is not _real,_ but a part of him is _back in Xadia.  
Home._

Loki looks up on her reading of sky mage philosophy to find Aaravos with his characteristic grin. She rolls her eyes. “At least one of us is having fun.”  
Reading the beliefs of this particular philosopher, Loki hopes this is not indicative of sky magic in general. _“To be one with the sky is to let go of earthly tethers. Attachments will clip your wings.”_  
“Now how exactly am I supposed to do that if the whole _reason_ I am trying to learn this is _for_ someone else?” Loki throws the book aside in anger. It is clear that method is a dead end, or at the very least that manuscript is useless. She is quite tempted to set the book on fire, for reasons she does not wish to address. The very _idea_ that she should sever her connection to Aaravos, sever her one and only friendship in the multiverse after centuries of building loneliness, is a particular insult to her.  
And it is _because_ of that deep tie to the elf next to her that she picks up the next book on the sky primal. Hopefully this one will have something more helpful. 

“So,” the mage says, “what _is_ the plan?”  
Aaravos smirks. What does the mage _think_ he is going to say? His _actual_ long-term plan? “To fulfill your wishes, of course.” His short-term plan. Besides, he already knows what the mage wishes, and they share a common goal.  
“My goal is a bright future for humanity!” the mage insists.  
Aaravos rolls his eyes. “Right. And this bright future will require us to… conquer Xadia?” Internally, he smirks. A little more nudging, and the mage will fall right in line. He does need someone to take the fall if his plan does not work out.  
The mage groans. “Yes. Yes, it may.”  
Perfect.  
Falling behind again, he pulls out his pen and paper. _“Just a little longer, Loki.”_

If Loki ever has to read the word “untethered” _one more time_ in the next thousand years, it will be too soon. Must she read on philosophy anyway? What could they know, what with asking constant questions.  
The pull at her hand alerts her to a new note on the paper. “Just a little longer?” Loki pales. “What… what does that mean?”  
Just a little longer before the mage sleeps? Just a little longer before the next step?  
Is the next step approaching? Where Aaravos will leave the prison for good, a new body waiting for him on the other side?  
“I need more time, Aaravos,” Loki murmurs. “This is too fast for me.”

“The key to achieving your… _noble aims_ is simple,” Aaravos says, recognizing where they are. The landscape has not changed too much in the past centuries. “But first, there is something we need here, in Lux Aurea.”  
Something in his tone seems to have made the mage suspicious. “How many lives will we be risking?”  
Aaravos smiles. “ _Viren,_ I am nothing if not elegant and efficient. We’ll risk as few lives as possible: one.”  
He does not show the fear he feels, that the new Sunfire queen will be smarter than Aditi, will kill the mage before he is brought to the Sunforge.  
The mage looks down as he realizes. “Ah. Mine.”  
Aaravos only nods.

The mechanics of sky spells and their uses are much easier for Loki to grasp, no emotion to contend with, but even as she compares manipulating the air around her with telekinesis to a wind spell, she knows that it is not a _connection,_ not an understanding like she has with the moon.  
She closes the book with a sigh, before turning to look at Aaravos, his brows drawn together. She resists the urge to caress his face and smooth out the wrinkles in his brow. “Perhaps the stars then? If I do enough reading before your mage sleeps, perhaps you can act as my teacher again and help me understand.”  
Loki is about to get up to gather more books when she sees Aaravos’s eyes clear to their usual black and gold.

Aaravos hides his caterpillar the one place he knows it will not be found. The spells he must cast on it, and the inherent magic of the Sunfire city, together weaken the link enough that his astral form begins to fade. An unforeseen side effect, and one that has Aaravos near panic for the seconds before he realizes his sight is returning.  
He blinks several times, vision fading out in white before it returns, and he can see Loki beside him. He turns, looking directly at her face, eyes wide in surprise.  
It takes him a moment to remember the pen and paper he is still holding. _“I did not know this would happen,”_ he writes, _“but I am so glad to see you again.”_

 _His voice is still gone,_ Loki realizes. She writes in the air, a gesture both familiar and foreign at this point. _“Did something happen? Has something gone wrong? Are you alright?”_

Aaravos shakes his head. _“Not wrong, only unexpected. A spell I needed to cast had the unforeseen effect of weakening my link to the mage. I believe it is partially due to where we are.”_  
He cannot stop _smiling,_ his eyes drinking in Loki like it is the last he will ever see of her.

 _“And where are you?”_ Loki asks, more at ease now that she knows Aaravos is okay. It is almost nostalgic to sit in front of him and write in the air, despite having only been a week since Aaravos lost his sight.

 _“Lux Aurea, the capital city of the Sunfire elves. I need their Sunforge.”_ He smiles again, tilting his head. _“What have you been doing?”_

Loki gestures to the books on the floor with a sheepish smile. A few of the pages are surely bent from her frustrations, and Aaravos is so particular about his books. _“I have been… reading… and had a bit of a disagreement with the contents of some of these books.”_ She scoops up the books, smoothing them out and stacking them neatly on a nearby table face down. Aaravos does not need to know about her failures and frustrations with the sky arcanum.

Aaravos gives Loki a stern look, but a second later he is smiling again and shaking his head. _“Is it Skywing philosophy or Tidebound?”_ He reaches for one of the books, still watching Loki.

Loki blinks in surprise, coughing as she sucks in an errant breath. _Damn that clever elf. He knows both the sources and me all too well._ She slaps Aaravos’s hand as he reaches for the books. _“For the record it was on Sunfire magic, not even philosophy. I attempted a mimicry of some of it and was greeted with some very unpleasant sensations. I suppose being a **frost** giant will do that.”_ The lie does not come quite as easily as Loki’s lies usually do, perhaps because she was caught off guard. 

Aaravos winces in sympathy and takes Loki’s hand, looking at her in concern. _“And are you alright now? What happened?”_  
He notices Loki’s hesitation, but thinks it is only embarrassment.

 _Oh, and now he’s **concerned!** Look at what you have done!_ Loki chides herself.  
It is so hard to lie to Aaravos to begin with, what with his inability to lie putting them on uneven footing. She has never felt particularly guilty about such things before, taking any advantages she can get in life.  
As much as many Asgardians would tout their adherence to codes of honor, they were hypocrites, the lot of them. Lies always ran rampant in the house of Odin, with or without Loki’s doing. She was always just evening the scales in her favor with her trickery.  
But Aaravos is different, and so she cannot treat him the same. Even the little lies melt away to truth in front of him. _“Okay… so I lied. It was Skywing philosophy. The concepts frustrated me, particularly that which insisted one let go of attachments.”_ She shrugs, avoiding Aaravos’s eyes. _“I would only be learning the sky primal for you, anyway, so it seems very counterproductive.”_

Aaravos pulls back. Loki… lied to him?  
_But it was only a small lie.  
A precursor to a larger betrayal,_ his mind argues.  
_She told the truth almost immediately!  
She still lied.  
She is not the first to have lied to me, nor have all who lied to me betrayed me.  
True, but how willing are you to risk it?_  
Aaravos… cannot answer this question at the moment.  
He looks back at Loki’s glowing words. _For– for **me?**_ What? He needs a moment to process this. He drops his face into his hands, mind buzzing.  
Attachments… Loki could not let go of attachments to learn sky magic, which she sees as counterproductive because she would be learning it for Aaravos.  
_Of course she feels an attachment to me,_ Aaravos argues with himself. _We are friends. I may be her only friend, and certainly her only friend at the moment. It does not mean anything else._  
But what if he _wants_ it to mean something else? What if Loki _did_ mean something else? What if… he could ask…  
_“It confused me at first as well,”_ he writes. _“It means you must let go of control over other people. Not, I think, something that will be too great of a problem for you.”_

Loki shoots Aaravos a sly smirk. _“Yes, only a fool would ever think they could control you. You are as much a creature of chaos as I am.”_

_“I… I meant anyone, not myself in particular. You must let go of the idea that you can control anyone else, if you have that idea at all.”_

Loki rolls her eyes. _“As if I could have attachments to anyone else at this point.”_

Aaravos truly does not know what he is to say. His hand moves with barely a thought: _“What is that supposed to mean, Loki?”  
Does it mean what I want it to mean?_

Loki’s cheeks flush and she scoffs, picking up a book to busy her hands and have somewhere else to look. She throws up her reply with a flick of her hand. _“If you cannot figure that out with all your years and cleverness then there’s no hope for you.”  
There’s no hope for **us** at all..._

Aaravos’s gaze flicks from the words to Loki. _“Then…”_ His vision starts to fade, and he stops writing, cursing his luck. True, he could write what he wants to say, and Loki would see it, but he needs to see her reaction. He needs to know what she truly thinks in the moment, not what she tells him the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it might be a little different from what we know of the sky arcanum from the show (which... is admittedly not much?) but the plot was more important. Plus it's not technically contradictory, and I liked the chance to address the common misconception regarding the "let go of attachments" philosophy that you see in things like Avatar and Star Wars. (Though my understanding is very limited as well and if anyone that knows more would like to infodump feel free!)
> 
> Anyway, any theories about upcoming chapters? We love to hear from you!


	12. Never Make a Master Jotun Sorceress Angry by Suggesting You Recreate Her Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaravos continues with his plans and shares them with Loki, while Loki gets both a painful reminder of her past and a glimpse of Aaravos's actions in Xadia. Their disagreement on how to move forward escalates the already tense emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a depiction of a panic attack with aspects of claustrophobia

Returning to his astral form, Aaravos directs his caterpillar to an elf’s shoulder, casting a spell as the bug bites them. A moment later, he has not just his projection, but a solid body. And he has the Sun Scepter.  
He laughs, lifting the scepter. “Your arrogance is _so predictable._ ”  
Two elves rush at him, and he lifts the scepter, using it to draw a swirling Sun rune that knocks the elves back. Did they really think they had a hope of doing more than stalling him?

Ever since Aaravos’s vision faded again, Loki has been reading about the star primal. It is far more interesting to her than the sky primal, especially since it allows more of a connection to Aaravos rather than asking that she let go of her attachment to him. Even with Aaravos’s clarification on the philosophy, she is not ready to confront those emotions. They are far too jumbled and tangled for her to navigate without more frustration than progress.  
Loki is startled, however, when Aaravos stands and moves. She thinks for a moment that he has regained his sight and hearing again, but his eyes are still clouded over. _Does he need something?_ Loki wonders, _Food perhaps?_  
Aaravos laughs, the sound not escaping his mouth, but the breathing motion of his chest and the smile on his face give it away. He lifts his hands as if holding something, a staff or scepter perhaps. The posture and the manic grin is a familiar sight, a distressing one.  
Loki does not like this, does not like seeing what she might have looked like those years ago from the outside. It was bad enough watching helplessly from within.

He looks at the queen, half laughing as he says, “You allowed my vessel to walk right into your court, and then you brought him directly to the source of all your power!” He laughs again. There is something so amusing about this… the new queen is _just_ like Aditi. Oh, the everpresent Sunfire arrogance. So infuriating, yet sometimes, so _convenient._  
He raises a hand to the little caterpillar on his shoulder– heh, his voice is on his shoulder. “Oh, the irony is _wonderful,_ ” he says, speaking of both the queen’s mistake and the joke only he understands.  
He gives the queen a dark grin, stalking over to her. “You are just like your grandmother.” So small, compared to him, so weak, yet so full of bravado. As if glaring and narrowed eyes could really do anything.

Loki would like to look away, what with the unpleasant memories resurfacing, but she cannot. Aaravos says something, but she cannot make out more than a few words. “Power” is one of them, clearly emphasized.  
“Is that what you want, Aaravos? Power?” Loki asks aloud. “Do you not have enough?” She shudders. “All it means is the ability to keep the weak in line. Is that what you plan to do?”  
Loki shakes her head. “No, I know you. I know that what you _really_ want is freedom. I hope that your smile means that things are going according to plan but… I do not like this look on you, Aaravos. It is far too familiar in many ways.”

The queen backs away as he approaches, nearly stepping off the edge of the cliff they are on. Hm, that wasn’t there last time Aaravos was in Lux Aurea, something must have changed.  
He slides the scepter behind the queen, using it to pull her closer to him. She is like Aditi in too many ways for his liking. “Would you like to know the truth of her fate?”  
The queen does not answer, but Aaravos smiles and leans down anyway. “ _You’ll never know,_ ” he whispers, chuckling as he pulls back. His hand cups her chin for a moment more as he mentally casts the sun spell that will condemn her.  
He turns away as she dissolves, surprised by how little he enjoys her scream. _It is too much like Loki’s nightmares._  
Shaken, he stands facing the cliff as the mage approaches. He pulls a smile onto his face to present him with the scepter, sending his caterpillar back to the mage’s shoulder and discarding the Sunfire’s body. He no longer needs it, and now, it will only be a hindrance.

Aaravos steps forward, forcing Loki backward. He leans forward as if whispering in someone’s ear before making a flicking motion with his hand, all with a sadistic smile on his face. _He’s hurting people,_ Loki realizes. She would have to be blind to not recognize the look of a victorious warrior. Aaravos spins on his heel, walking back from where he came where he bows, as if handing off something.  
Loki scowls. “When you get back, Aaravos, you better have a _damn good_ explanation for what you’re doing.”  
Or maybe she should not bring it up. She may not have the strength to face her old demons twice in one day.  
Aaravos sits back where he started, and Loki picks up the book to sit next to him, only to stand again and realize that she cannot be in the same room with Aaravos right now. She can start on dinner. 

Aaravos does not need to push very hard to convince the mage to ride through the night after changing his army to fire-warriors. The mage’s son left, and Aaravos does not doubt he has gone to warn Xadia.  
 _I should have found a way to kill him before he could,_ he thinks angrily. If the boy warns the dragons, and they defeat the mage and his army before Aaravos can get to the dragon prince… no, he will figure out another way, if that happens. He _has_ to.  
A few hours before dawn, the mage calls a halt. He must sleep, even if the fire soldiers do not need to. Aaravos does not object, though he wants to continue, to attack before the dragon queen knows what has happened.  
Instead, he only says, “We continue at dawn.”  
The mage nods, and lies down to sleep.  
Aaravos opens his eyes in his sitting room. He has to tell Loki about this, about his plan, so she will know he will not leave her alone for long.

As Loki chops at the vegetables with more force than required, she wonders why Aaravos’s actions bother her so much. She was raised in a culture of warriors, trained to fight since childhood. The image of Aaravos wielding some staff-like weapon should not shake her. She has seen far worse.  
There lies the problem. Loki does not want to be reminded of Asgard, of New York, of _Thanos._ She remembers bowing as she accepted the scepter with the mind stone, a reversal of Aaravos handing off whatever was in his possession. Aaravos has been such a sanctuary for Loki, so different from everything she has known in life. To be able to draw even the smallest comparisons to her nightmares is… disturbing.  
Perhaps it is for the best that Aaravos is also a warrior. Loki has never had the stomach for it, and even less so now, only fighting if she is in direct danger. After all, someone has to do the fighting if Loki is so committed to cowardice.  
 _But does it have to be the person I lo-_  
Loki’s thoughts are interrupted when she splits the chopping tray in half.

Aaravos stands, heading out of the sitting room. “Loki?” he calls, loudly enough she should be able to hear, wherever she is. “We need to talk.”

Loki winces as she hears Aaravos’s voice calling for her, cringing especially hard at those four dreadful words. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she calls back, “In the kitchen, Sparkles!”  
She dumps the chopped vegetables into the pot and begins mending the tray with magic, watching as the fibers rebind. She focuses on her task in an effort to soothe herself. It only half works.

Kitchen. Yes, that makes sense. Focusing again on his breathing, Aaravos enters the kitchen. “Loki–”  
She is standing by a pot, looking intently at a chopping tray. _Why?_  
“...is everything alright?”

Loki glances up, concentration broken, and sighs at the half mended tray. “Yes, I just… I broke this and was mending it with magic.” She sets it down on the counter, gripping it tight enough for her knuckles to turn white. “What is it we need to talk about?” Loki asks, tension bleeding into her tone.

Aaravos shifts from one foot to the other. “I… I wish to tell you my plan, _before_ it goes into effect this time.” _More into effect._ He moves closer, reaching out to put his hand on Loki’s. “I realize I have not been the best at communicating my plans. It is a difficult habit to break, but you deserve better.”

Loki squeezes Aaravos’s hand, still avoiding looking at his face. “I appreciate it, truly. What are the next steps?”

Aaravos’s free hand opens and closes, remembering the weight of the sun scepter. “With Avizandum gone, Xadia is ruled by his mate, Queen Zubeia. As such, she is the only one who can open the mirror prison.” He pauses, considering his next words. He knows his moral code is somewhat questionable by most standards, and he does not want Loki to think less of him for it.  
“Zubeia always had a softer heart than Avizandum. I spoke to her a few times. She was sympathetic to some of my ideas– though not enough to speak for me when I was imprisoned.” Aaravos takes a breath, pulling his mind back to his original topic. “I doubt she will be too keen to free you simply because I ask it of her, so I am preparing a backup plan. The mage is going to capture Zubeia’s son, and when I am free I will… negotiate with her.” He frowns briefly. “I do not trust that fool mage to handle things properly.”

Loki’s mind latches on the words “capture Zubeia’s son.”  
When she speaks, her voice shakes. “How old is her son?”

“I… am unsure,” Aaravos says warily. “How much does it matter?”

Loki squeezes Aaravos’s hand even tighter, past the point of comfort and more a signal of how serious she is about this. “Give me your best estimate.”

Aaravos winces, but does not try to pull his hand from Loki’s. “Age since hatching, or human equivalent?”

“Both. _Now._ ”

_Now_ Aaravos tries to pull away, but Loki’s grip is strong. “A– a month or so, I think, the equivalent of a human child of around… three? four?”

A baby, then. A child. A small creature too young to defend himself, possibly lacking the ability to understand what is going on, that he is being used as a hostage for negotiations between those at war. Loki relinquishes her grip on Aaravos’s hand, nearly shaking with the sheer fury welling up within her. As if earlier today was not bad enough.  
Slowly, Loki turns to face Aaravos, who only has a look of mild confusion on his face. Her magic boils in her veins, rising up to protect her. Perhaps at any other time, she would use illusions, she would run or hide, but not now. No, this is not just pain, this is _wrath._  
“What kind of cowardly worm hides behind a child, Aaravos? _Uses_ a defenseless baby for their own negotiations? I have _never_ been so insulted, that you would do this on my behalf! _How_ could you even suggest such a despicable action, to _me_ especially!  
“Oh, wait, you were not suggesting this, you were not asking for my _approval._ No, when have you done anything besides what is best for you and you alone, Aaravos? Not a single iota of consideration for the other people that suffer for your choices!”  
Loki only half intends for her magic to fly so out of control. There is only so much one can do to hold such power at bay at such an emotional moment. Frost spreads out from her feet, crawling across the floor so fast that in a moment the room is cold enough to see Aaravos’s breath. The ice entraps Aaravos’s feet to the floor, creeping slowly up his legs. “Do you see what happens to the children that live with that trauma?” Loki spits the words inches from Aaravos’s face. “And are you willing to make an enemy out of me, Aaravos?”

Aaravos’s confusion gives way to fear as Loki shouts.   
He tries to back away, but his feet will not move. Looking down, he sees the ice holding his feet to the floor and spreading all across the room. He’s _trapped,_ and cold, oh so cold.  
He jerks at his feet, trying desperately to wrench them from the ice. And now Loki is so close, and _so angry._   
“No,” he whispers, then forces his voice louder, “no, NO! I don’t, I do not want this. I, I am sorry, Loki, I am, I–” He tries again to wrench his feet from the ice, wanting only to escape.   
“I will find another way, then!” he blurts out, droplets freezing on his cheeks. “I, I can, I will–”  
He does not know what other way he could find, but he has to try.

If not for the severe chill in the room that freezes Loki’s tears to her face, she might not notice that she is crying. At Aaravos’s words which border on panicked, Loki steps back. Looking down, she sees that her skin is blue, and she forces herself back into Aesir form. Most of the ice begins to vaporize into mist, but there is still a persistent bite to the air. She is still angry, furious even, especially with herself. _Now he sees the monster that I am._  
“I cannot believe I was…” she mutters, trailing off before she reveals too much. _I cannot believe I was falling for you._  
Loki shakes her head. “See that you _do_ find another way.” Then, she grabs the large wooden spoon from the counter and thrusts it into his hands with a shove. “And while you’re at it, make your own damn dinner.”  
She storms out of the room, looking for the farthest area she can reach in the prison. Her heart seems to shatter as she does, and it brings a defeated chuckle to the surface. She did not know there were enough intact parts of her left to break.

Aaravos holds the wooden spoon numbly, staring at the doorway long after Loki has gone.  
“But I can’t cook,” he says, voice cracking. He sinks to the floor, still clutching the spoon. “I can’t cook,” he repeats.  
He needs. He needs something. He needs to think, to figure out another way. A way to convince Zubeia to free Loki that does _not_ involve the baby dragon. Maybe a disguise. Maybe that would work. Or. He isn’t sure.  
He looks at the wooden spoon again, but dinner feels like too much effort to go through for just himself.  
But, Loki has been making him dinner so often. He should make her dinner in return. Or, at least he should try.  
He forces himself to stand and look at the pot. There are vegetables already in it, and water, although now it is a frozen mass. He can fix this. He uses a sun rune on the pot, thawing it rapidly. Do vegetables need to cook slowly? He thinks they need to cook slowly. Maybe?  
He heats the pot as quickly as he thinks he can, stirring continually. Perhaps he can appeal to Zubeia’s softer heart, pointing out Loki’s innocence of all the crimes Aaravos was imprisoned for.  
Another thought comes to him: he could swear fealty, bind himself to the Dragon Throne. He does not care for this idea _at all,_ not with Xadia’s binding magics, but would he? For Loki?  
He hears a bubbling noise, and looks down. The soup is bubbling away happily, looking almost too hot. He finds a spoon to taste. It is not so good as Loki’s soup, but it is not _bad._ Aaravos fills two bowls, adds a spoon to each, and goes to look for Loki.

Loki flies from room to room, but she is so familiar with this place now that it feels so _small._ Eventually she bursts out into the courtyard garden. The lack of a roof makes the space feel marginally less oppressive, but it is still not enough. Loki transforms into a crow, flapping her wings to ascend directly into the sky above. She makes it about as far as fifteen feet before she reaches a barrier, smacking her beak into it and falling to the ground with a painful _thunk._  
She transforms back into Aesir, limbs aching from the fragile form. Loki is tempted to grow wings again, give it another shot. She leaps up, heart pounding. She _needs_ to get out of here. She needs a way out. She cannot be trapped here completely dependent on Aaravos for freedom. Out of desperation she pulls every weapon from her pocket dimension, every beloved dagger and even some swords and a few bludgeoning weapons like a mace and staff. She fills them with every ounce of magical energy she can spare and hurls them at the fake sky. She does this over and over to no use, just scattering her weapons across the courtyard horribly bent and mangled.  
Loki’s breath comes in shorter and shorter, heavier and heavier. It is so _cramped_ here, the walls are too close, too overbearing around her. She cannot _breathe_ like this.  
 _I need to get out of here. How do I get out of here? Oh please I just need to be somewhere I can **breathe!** Why can’t I breathe? Where is all the air?_ Loki curses as her knees buckle under her. She scrambles along the grass and dirt until she has backed herself into the corner of the garden with the walls at her back. Even with the entire garden before her it is much too small a space. She cannot think, cannot breathe, _why_ by the Norns can she not _breathe?_  
Loki pulls her knees to her chest, as if to make herself smaller to fit inside such a compressed space. As a last resort to feel safe again from this ever-present threat, Loki drapes an illusion over herself, shrouding her form and turning invisible. It does not help, but she can barely bring herself to move at this point. She can’t breathe. _She can’t breathe._

_She was so angry. Will she even want to see me?  
She still needs to eat. I will hand her a bowl and leave again.  
But I need to apologize.  
It depends,_ Aaravos decides. If Loki is still as angry as she was, he can leave. He does not want to face her anger again so soon. If she is less angry, maybe he can apologize again, tell her one of his new plans.  
Finally, he enters the garden, not having seen Loki anywhere else, and stops dead at the sight of dozens of assorted weapons strewn over his garden.  
 _Is Loki hurt?_  
He looks around, only worrying more when he cannot see Loki. But she _must_ be here, he has checked every other place and this is the only one that shows any sign of her presence. Where _is_ she?  
Shifting both bowls to one arm, Aaravos reaches into a pocket for the pen he almost forgot he had. He uncaps it and holds it up, turning slowly and concentrating on its temperature.  
There! As he turns toward a corner, the pen warms, growing still warmer as he walks to the corner.  
“Loki?” he asks softly. He replaces the pen in his pocket and tentatively holds out a bowl. “I am sorry. Will you accept my humble apology?”

Loki can barely respond to Aaravos, so caught up in her panic. The illusion falls away as Aaravos holds out the bowl, as Loki no longer has the strength of will to sustain it. She looks up at Aaravos, breath coming in short bursts as she tries and feels like she fails to take in air. “I can’t- I can’t- I need to- _am I dying?”_

Pushing back the burst of fear in his chest, Aaravos reaches out to Loki, setting both bowls down to do so. He reaches for her hand, taking it in both of his and rubbing gentle circles on her wrist. “No, no, you are not dying. You are alive, you are safe. I am here. You are safe.”

Loki clings to Aaravos’s hands like he is what is keeping her alive. In a way, he is. As he repeats the soothing mantra of “you are safe, I am here,” Loki’s muscles begin to relax, twitching as they do so for how tense they were. Every repeat of those three words, “you are safe,” brings Loki back to reality, to the present moment, bit by bit. Slowly, she can breathe again, and when she takes her first deep breath it hitches in a sob. Loki leans forward, pulling their clasped hands to her forehead and grounding herself in Aaravos’s presence with her.  
Even now, he makes her feel better. Even now, she believes him when he tells her that she is safe.

Aaravos closes his eyes, steadying his breathing to keep himself calm. This, he knows, should help calm Loki as well. “You are safe,” he says again. “...I finished dinner, if you would like to eat anytime soon.” He smiles a little. “Or we can stay sitting like this. Whichever you prefer.”

Loki shakes her head, clinging to Aaravos’s hands. “Just… stay here. Don’t leave me, please.”

“I will not leave,” Aaravos says quietly. He will be pulled away in just a couple hours, but until then he will stay by Loki’s side as long as she wants him to.

“No… I mean…” _Do not ever leave me, do not leave me here to escape to Xadia._  
But Loki cannot ask that of him, not when he has craved his freedom for so many centuries. “Thank you. Just… thank you. I cannot believe you came to look for me after how terrified you looked before.”

“Always,” Aaravos says. He hesitates before admitting, “You are frightening when you are angry, and I–” _love you the more for it._  
His words turn into a cough. “You needn’t apologize. You had reason to be angry. I should have thought through that plan more thoroughly.”

“Yes… you should have, but… I might have overreacted a touch.” Loki shudders before continuing. “You scared me as well, today, though you probably were not aware.”

When could he have scared Loki? Perhaps when he began speaking of his plan? _We need to talk._ Oh, perhaps that was it.  
“I apologize. I admit I could have worded it better. I did not realize it would scare you.”

“No, that… that was not what I was referring to.” Loki wipes at the tears on her face. “You usually do not move when you are using your astral form. Your lips will move and you will smile or frown, but you are otherwise very still… except for today.” Loki swallows and pulls at the collar of her shirt. “It was not much, and not for long, but you… you reminded me of a time I would much rather forget. You reminded me of… myself when I was not.”

Aaravos’s eyes widen, and he pulls back slightly before catching himself. _Lux Aurea. The Sunfire priest._  
“I… I am sorry. I did not know, did not intend that.” He squeezes Loki’s hands lightly. “I was… showing off, I suppose. It was… not as fun as I expected it to be. I am sorry I brought back those memories.” He hesitates, then leans forward, putting his arms around Loki slowly enough he can pull away if she does not like it.

Loki melts into the hug, wrapping her arms around Aaravos in turn. He is warm and steady and Loki is still unsure how she feels about hugs in general. At times her instincts still tell her that so much contact is reserved for combat.  
But Aaravos makes hugs feel safe.  
“I want to believe this is who you are,” Loki murmurs into Aaravos’s shoulder. “I can tell you are someone different when you are not with me, someone _very_ different. Is that who you would rather be? Do you hide who you are to keep the peace when we are stuck with each other?”

Aaravos pauses a moment. Is he really so different when he is with the mage? Well… maybe.  
“...no,” he says. “I…” He hesitates again before allowing the words to spill from him. “If anything, I am more of myself with you. Myself now, at least. I was, I was someone different before, before I was imprisoned.” _Before I met you._ “And that Aaravos, it is… it is _safer,_ I suppose, to be that Aaravos out there. The Aaravos that can do certain things, because he has done them before, and laugh as he does so. The one whose name is used to scare elflings. The one who does not regret his deeds.”  
Aaravos pulls back from Loki, looking at her hair because he cannot meet her eyes. “Once, that Aaravos was the true Aaravos. But he is not anymore. I…” _The battle is not yet won. Neither Loki nor I is freed._ “I may still need that Aaravos, just for a few more days. I will stay in whatever room you like, with the doors closed, so you needn’t see him again.” He stops, then adds, “When we are free, I hope to be rid of that version of me.”

Loki steels her resolve, steadies her expression, and says, “No. I will stay by you. I am not so frail, Aaravos, that I cannot look upon the worst of you. I have seen far worse.” Loki reaches up to cup Aaravos’s face with her hand, pulling his gaze to her eyes to make her point clear. “So long as you come back to me, the _real_ you.”

Aaravos blinks, moisture coating his lashes. “I will. I will come back to you.” He pulls forth a laugh, saying, “Although I hope that will be figurative. I hope to bring you out of this prison, not come back to it myself!”

Loki shoves Aaravos’s arm playfully, laughing along, more out of relief than anything. “You know what I mean, Sparkles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised that at some point, Aaravos would be scared by Loki, because that is what Loki deserves. We have finally delivered! Loki is not the weaker of the two in this relationship, she has her own unique powers that serve her differently than Aaravos's powers serve him.  
> It was very satisfying to have Aaravos be frightened by Loki's power and fury >:)  
> What do you think the new plan is? How are they going to escape the prison? We're coming up on the end of season 3 in the dragon prince universe, how will those events play in? We'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
